


If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now

by Marvelea_Scroggs (Azalea_Scroggs)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: (I've always wanted to use that tag), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Lots of Angst, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Not actually that much whump, One Shot Collection, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Warning: Loki, Whumptober 2019, because they're all different one-shots, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-11-27 22:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 32,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea_Scroggs/pseuds/Marvelea_Scroggs
Summary: Because after going through the wringer, who doesn't need some refreshments?A collection of one-shots written for Whumptober on Tumblr, featuring primarily Loki, Thor, Tony, Pepper and Peter. Lots and lots of angst with also a touch of fluff at times, this is a way for me to explore these characters and kick-start the muse.There is an index in the first chapter and warnings on top of every ficlet.





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've wanted to write some MCU fanfiction, but I didn't have any inspiration beyond ideas for multi-chaptered fics I don't have the time to write. It's also been a while since I've wanted to do the Whumptober challenge on Tumblr. So I thought, why not mix both?
> 
> So this collection is born. These are thirty-one Marvel vignettes, mostly Tony-, Loki- and Peter-centric, one per day of October. Unlike the name of the challenge, there actually _isn't_ so much whump, but there is certainly a lot of angst! I will post them here with some delay, but they can all be found on [my main tumblr blog](http://azalea-scroggs.tumblr.com) or [my MCU sideblog](http://marvelea-scroggs.tumblr.com). The first chapter is an index of all the vignettes. I'll try and update daily.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my first foray into the MCU!

**1\. Shaky Hands**

Loki-centric, canon-compliant, _Thor_ vignette. Reeling from the escapade in Jotunheim, Loki is plagued by unwelcome doubts.

No particular warnings apply.

**2\. Explosion**

Tony-centric, _Iron Man_ vignette. For all that he designed and sold weapons, Tony had never been in the middle of the crossfire.

Warnings for explosions, gunfire and blood.

**3\. Delirium**

Loki-centric, canon-compliant, _Thor_ vignette. It seemed one moment he was lunging at Thor to try and stop him from destroying the Bifrost, then the next he was dangling from the end of Gungnir, disoriented, staring up into his father's eyes.

Warning for suicidal thoughts.

**4\. Human Shield**

Thor-centric, canon-compliant, _Thor_ vignette. Stranded on Midgard, faced with a seemingly mad brother, Thor wonders how it all came to this.

No particular warnings apply.

**5\. Gunpoint**

Peter-centric, canon-compliant, pre-_Civil War_. A day in the life of Peter Parker, alias Spider-Man.

Warning for gun violence.

**6\. Dragged Away**

Pepper-centric, Pepperony, canon-compliant, pre-_Iron Man 2_. Tony is late to a press conference. Pepper is not amused.

No particular warnings apply.

**7\. Isolation**

Loki-centric, canon-compliant, _Thor: The Dark World_ vignette. Alone in his cell, Loki grieves.

No particular warnings apply.

**8\. Stab Wound**

Tony-centric, Irondad, _Infinity War_ fix-it. They'd won. Thanos had been defeated, but at a terrible price.

Warnings for blood and injury.

**9\. Shackled**

Thor-centric, canon-compliant, _Avengers_ vignette. It was wrong, to see him like that.

No particular warnings apply.

**10\. Unconscious**

Thor-centric, pre-_Thor_. Thor and Loki go on an adventure.

No particular warnings apply.

**11\. Stitches**

Peter-centric, canon-compliant, _Spider-Man: Far From Home_ vignette. Peter was hurt and Happy picks up the pieces in more ways than one.

No particular warnings apply.

**12\. "Don't move"**

Tony-centric, Tony & Rhodey, canon-compliant, _Iron Man_ vignette. Unsurprisingly, Tony woke up with the worst hangover he'd ever experienced.

Warning for brief mentions of torture.

**13\. Adrenaline**

Peter-centric, canon-compliant. Truth be told, perhaps Tony was onto something that time he'd off-handedly accused Peter of being an adrenaline junkie.

No particular warnings apply.

**14\. Tear-stained**

Loki-centric, canon-compliant, _Infinity War_ vignette. He had known it was coming. He had denied it, run from it, tried to forget it, but he had always known Thanos would eventually find him.

Warnings for major character death and strangulation.

**15\. Scars**

Tony centric, Pepperony, canon-compliant, post _Iron Man 3_ vignette. The bandages had come off earlier today, and Tony felt like a new man.

No particular warnings apply.

**16\. Pinned Down**

Peter centric, canon-compliant, _Spider-Man: Homecoming_ vignette. Peter couldn't move. It was dark, and it was humid, and water was falling on his face, and he _couldn't move_.

No particular warnings apply.

**17\. "Stay with me"**

Loki-centric, AU vignette. Loki tries to get a fallen Thor to rise.

Warning for major character death.

**18\. Muffled Scream**

Loki-centric, canon-compliant, immediately post-_Avengers_ vignette. Imprisoned by SHIELD after his failed conquest attempt, Loki now battles against his own mind.

Warning for mentions of torture.

**19\. Asphyxiation**

Tony-centric, canon-compliant, post-_Iron Man_ vignette. Tony finally opens up about his ordeal with the Ten Rings.

Warnings for torture.

**20\. Trembling**

Peter-centric, post-battle of New York _Endgame_ timeline AU. Peter confronts Loki and manages to see through him.

No particular warnings apply.

**21\. Laced drink**

Tony-centric, canon-compliant, pre-_Iron Man_ vignette. Rhodey is persuaded Tony's stubbornness will get the better of him someday, and college parties sometimes aren't the safest place for fifteen-year-old geniuses.

Warnings for non-consensual drugging and slight hints of a character intending assault, although nothing bad happens and the near victim remains mostly unaware of it.

**22\. Hallucination**

Thor-centric, canon-compliant, post-_Infinity War_ vignette. The sun will shine on us again; the sentence keeps turning in Thor's mind, a tiny glimmer of hope in the shadows. But it's so dark in Thor's mind.

Warning for past major character death.

**23\. Bleeding out**

Thor-centric, canon-compliant, _Thor_ AU. In the middle of the rekindled war with Jotunheim, a surprise attack has unforeseen consequences.

Warning for blood.

**24\. Secret Injury**

Peter-centric, canon-compliant, follow-up to n°5: Gunpoint. Peter goes back home and has to confront a worried May.

No particular warnings apply.

**25\. Humiliation**

Tony-centric, _Avengers_ AU. The scene where Tony attempts to threaten Loki happens a little differently.

No particular warnings apply.

**26\. Abandoned**

Peter-centric, post _Spider-Man: Far From Home_ vignette. Following Beck's devastating announcement, Peter is on the run.

No particular warnings apply.

**27\. Ransom**

Pepper-centric, loosely canon-compliant, Pepperony. Tony is kidnapped. Pepper is not amused.

No particular warnings apply.

**28\. Beaten**

Tony-centric, canon-compliant, immediate post-_Infinity War_ vignette. Never had Tony felt so defeated.

No particular warnings apply.

**29\. Numb**

Loki-centric, canon-compliant, pre-_Thor_ vignette. It is an evening like any other on Asgard. Loki can't bring himself to share Thor and his friends' fun.

Warning for suicidal thoughts.

**30\. Recovery**

Thor-centric, post-Battle of New York _Endgame_ timeline AU, follow-up to n°20: Trembling. Loki and Thor reunite after Thanos is defeated.

No particular warnings apply.

**31\. Embrace**

Canon-compliant. Even heroes deserve hugs.

No particular warnings apply.


	2. Shaky Hands (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from the escapade in Jotunheim, Loki is plagued by unwelcome doubts.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

At last they were safely back within the walls of the golden palace of Asgard, no worse for wear from their adventure, if a bit shaken. Loki's distracted ear caught the fraught chatter of Sif and the Warriors Three as they speculated how to bring Thor back. His exile was a blow none of them had expected, but Loki wasn't worried. He hadn't expected the Allfather to give him anything more than a slap on the fingers; surely the crown prince would be back among them in a matter of days.

He stood aside from the others in the shadows of the dimly-lit room, his back not quite turned on them, for once content to be ignored. His features set in an air of practised nonchalance, he idly looked at his left hand, his eyes roaming over the veins of his arm and the lines in his palm with bored and haughty disinterest.

The faintest tremor was running through it.

It was, he distractedly thought, probably the only thing about it he was certain was real. The paleness of his skin, the thin black hairs on his outside of his forearm, the clean, impeccable nails... What of it was true? what an illusion?

Fire was crackling in the hearth, the temperature of the room pleasantly warm. Still he felt cold as ice, as if the chill of Jotunheim had followed him all the way home, leaving him caught in the frozen, barren plains.

He desperately wanted to believe this to be a curse. A trick, as his dear brother – if such a qualifier was at all accurate – liked to call them. They knew so little of the enemy they had foolishly pursued into their home to fight, beyond epic tales of glorious Asgardian victory. Of their methods, of their weapons and their spells, precious little remained even in the royal library. Loki had looked there in the afternoon and left empty-handed.

All they knew of the monsters of the ice was how best to slaughter them.

But it must be a curse. Loki was sure of it. What else could it be, when he felt the cold shiver of a fever, the nausea and weakness of an upset stomach, the sense of dirtiness that came with sickness, the shortness of breath that a wound often left. A sojourn in the healing rooms, where Eir and the other magicians could find and undo the spell, and he would be fine again.

The nagging doubt, the uncertainty, the horrible concern he dared not formulate even in the privacy of his mind was too ludicrous to be anything but invention.

(Even if it explained so much and so neatly, even if it put words on an ailment he had always suspected and always denied in him.)

He gritted his teeth, biting on his tongue and letting the smell of blood soothe some of his frustration. He wished he was in his chambers; there he could have thrown something or lashed out with some seiðr, anything to alleviate the pit of dark heaviness weighing on his heart. He closed his fist, keenly feeling his nails as they bit into his skin.

It didn't stop his hand from shaking.


	3. Explosion (Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all that he designed and sold weapons, Tony had never been in the middle of the crossfire.
> 
> Warnings for explosions, gunfire and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually different from the one I posted on Tumblr, which I wasn't very happy about.

Shit, shit, shit.

Gunshots were sounding all around them, the van stopped in its tracks. The driver and the soldier in the front seat had left to fight, leaving Tony with his starry-eyed photo-enthusiast fan dragging him to the floor of the vehicle.

The sound was deafening. For all that he designed and sold weapons, Tony had never been in the middle of the crossfire like that. Soldiers were screaming all around, from the heat of the fight or in order to get heard Tony didn't know.

It hurt his pride to say, but dread was roiling in the pit of his guts. Staying in the van and waiting for the shooting to stop was nerve-wracking. He would have preferred by far to get out and fight like a man instead of hiding away here.

He was a civilian, all right, but he damn well knew his way around the guns he built.

“Stay down!” the kid on his left shouted at him. All the awkward admiration of only a few moments earlier had disappeared, leaving him completely focused, a soldier through and through.

Seconds later, he left Tony in the van to fend for himself with a last order to stay inside, without even giving him a weapon despite Tony's protests.

Great. Awesome. Weren't they supposed to protect him? He was the most vulnerable one here.

Bullets hit the van, startling Tony. The whistle of missiles resounded, bombs crashing too close for comfort.

Like hell he was staying here. He didn't want to die.

He dashed out of the van just as a bomb hit it, running and taking cover behind a rock. He took out his phone, activated the satellite communications, his heart drumming in his chest.

He needed to call Obadiah, Pepper, Rhodey, someone, anyone. They had to know what happened, had to come and get him out of here.

Fucking Jericho demonstration. Had he known, he'd never have accepted to do it. It was supposed to be just another showing, business as usual.

He hadn't signed up for this.

He was just about to reach Obie when something landed three feet away from him. Tony's heart missed a beat when he saw what it was.

A Stark Industries missile. Model S-208, conception year 1994, range 3.5 kilometers, explosion radius 2 meters. Tony still had the blueprints in mind.

He stumbled to his feet and ran away with a cry, but the missile blew up before he could get far. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of his lungs. His vision whited out, pain blossoming in his chest.

Dazed, stunned, insistent ringing in his ears, Tony looked down, saw his bespoke shirt stained with dark red.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This couldn't happen, this was why he was wearing a vest, this couldn't happen. He clumsily tore the shirt open, saw the black kevlar and the blood seeping through it.

His head was spinning. The sun was too bright, shining into his eyes. His chest was burning awfully, still bleeding, and Tony was too weak to move.

He needed to move... he needed to run, to contact Pepper or Rhodey or Obie... he needed...

He blacked out.


	4. Delirium (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed one moment he was lunging at Thor to try and stop him from destroying the Bifrost, then the next he was dangling from the end of Gungnir, disoriented, staring up into his father's eyes.
> 
> Warning for suicidal thoughts.

It seemed one moment he was lunging at Thor to try and stop him from destroying the Bifrost, then the next he was dangling from the end of Gungnir, disoriented, staring up into his father's eyes. 

His muscles were straining, and he could feel his fingers slipping from the end of the spear. He reflexively gripped it tighter, a lump in his throat.

So his failure was complete. Odin had swept in and saved the day again, because Loki couldn't, because no matter how hard he tried he knew their father would take Thor's side once more.

Thor was back, worthy again, but Loki would never be. Now that Odin had awakened, now that the golden prince had returned, what place was there for him? He had sat on the throne and failed, betrayed and shunned by all who should have served him instead.

“I could have done it, father,” he called out in a last hope. If his mother was to be believed, Odin had intended him to take the regency while Thor was away. He must have trusted Loki to do a decent job, even when all the others doubted, and truly he was the only one whose opinion mattered.

Surely he, as a king, a father and a wise ruler, would understand what Loki had tried to do. Surely he wouldn't put the blame on him, revile him like everybody else seemed to...

(And why should they not, when he was nothing but a lie and a liar, their natural enemy hidden in their midst...

Frost giant. It clung to his skin like a foreign substance, seeped into his bones like the dreadful truth it was, and he could feel his grasp on reality slipping from the horror of it all...)

But Odin shattered the last hope he still had. “No, Loki,” he said, his voice soft and firm at the same time.

Loki should have expected it. He should have expected the pain, too, but it still struck him in the chest, leaving him breathless.

He should have known it was always slated to come to this.

_(Frost giant, frost giant, frost giant)_

_(When I am king I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all)_

They were better off without him, weren't they. Fine then. In a rush of aimless anger, he opened his hand.

Thor's cries pursued him as he fell, leaving him with a kind of empty, crushing, regretful satisfaction. His once-brother grew smaller and smaller, never to be seen again. Loki closed his eyes, knowing what was coming and welcoming it.

Surely death must come with some kind of peace. Surely that would be the one thing he'd do right in his life. Dying had always been the only thing he was ever going to do right.

The darkness overwhelmed him, silence ringing in his ears as he fell and fell and fell. He waited and waited and waited, but still the so desired oblivion didn't come.

Fear started to grow in him, the slow realisation that he'd made a terrible mistake. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but a blur of flickering lights, passing by so quickly they were dizzying. There was nothing for him to hold on to, nothing to grasp to slow his pace. He was utterly out of control.

He closed his eyes again. Cold crept upon him, seizing his limbs until they were numb, growing even into his bones and his frozen Jotun heart. Lights were swirling around him among the darkness, he no longer knew where was high and low, right and left, forward and backward.

Time no longer had any meaning in this void, in this nothingness. Cold grew into a searing hotness, all-encompassing pain that came from nowhere and everywhere at once; he heard nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing but the blood in his mouth, for he must have bitten his tongue.

_This must be Niflhel,_ came in the scattered mess of fevered terror that remained of his thoughts.

Hands seemed to be grasping at him, fingers clutching, claws scratching. He screamed, but the void must have swallowed even that. Ever-changing images of horrifying creatures were flashing around him, flashes of hair-rising colours. He struggled in vain, could do nothing but pray for it to stop.

He sobbed and shouted and screamed for an end. He had no name, no home, no identity but the horror around him; he was the horror, he was the fear and the panic and the dread that was the only thing that existed. Nothing else ever had been; nothing else ever would be. He stared at the abyss and the abyss stared back, for they were one and forever joined.

Darkness. Oblivion. Pain. Faint dreams of time, of light.

Nothing that could be real, if real even existed.

Perhaps the truth was this. This cold nothing. This non-existence.

It felt all too familiar, as if it had always been with him.

Then _feeling_ again, a pain far more potent than the silence of the void, as something hard collided into him. His breath was cut away just as he realised he could breathe; consciousness of his skull came back as it hit a ground he had forgotten the existence of. A thick liquid in the nape of his neck; _blood._

Loki flinched at the sound of footsteps around him. There were voices, words, but he didn't hear. He didn't care who they were, didn't care where he was, just wanted the acute headache and the insistent ringing in his ears to go away.

He just wanted for death to claim him and have it over with.

A groan escaped his parched throat, and unconsciousness finally overtook him.


	5. Human Shield (Thor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranded on Midgard, faced with a seemingly mad brother, Thor wonders how it all came to this.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

How had it come to this? 

So much had happened in so little time, and Thor was very confused by the turn events had taken. He wanted nothing more than to come back home, see for himself that his father was truly alive and understand what kind of mess had been happening there while he was on Midgard.

In such a short time, he had learnt so much. Finding himself unable to move Mjolnir had been the last blow in his already declining spirit, his homesickness reaching a high point when Loki had appeared to tell him his father was dead because of him and he would never see Asgard again. Now it appeared these were lies, and his home realm was even more in disarray than he thought.

Loki. His brother. Loki, who wanted him _dead._

It was a devastating thought, and the one Thor understood least of all. Loki had always been the reserved one, withdrawn, introverted, with sarcasm on his tongue and a whole universe in his head. Loki who was always advising carefulness and thought; Loki whose eyes had lighted up, affection in his sardonic smile, while calling him “brother.”

Where was that love now? What grievous offence had Thor committed towards him, for their bond to snap so completely? What had caused this outburst so out of character, this desperate show of destruction?

When had it come to this?

Thor hadn't noticed anything, hadn't detected the signs, careless and blind as he had been. It felt as if his eyes had suddenly been opened after an explosion, so he didn't know how or where it had been set off but only saw the ruins.

His image of an explosion was quite literal, at that. The Destroyer was laying waste to the city, setting fire to buildings and sending the mortals' means of transportations in the air, torn in a thousand shards of metal. Thor didn't know if anybody had been wounded or killed, but he hoped not.

He knew he wasn't always the greatest thinker, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Loki was causing all this, when his brother had ever advised him against mindless war-waging.

So Thor did the only thing he could. He walked in blind, as he was wont to do, and spoke halting and clumsy words to his brother. He all but begged for reconciliation, and if that wasn't possible – then for Loki to take his life, and at least spare the innocent people taken in the throes of their fight.

He stood there in his Midgardian gear, in front of his mortal and Æsir friends alike, a shield rather than the spear and hammer he usually acted as. He stood there and stared into the fire-breathing mouth of the Destroyer, and as he waited for death to come – for his own brother to give it to him – all he could think about was why?

How had it come to this, and why had he let it?

He was going to die at Loki's own hand, and he would never understand. It was making him sick, but what could he do against it except look it in the face like a warrior, and forgive his wayward little brother while praying Loki forgave him too?

Thor was taking what he thought would be his last breath when, miraculously, the visor of the enchanted armour came up. The Destroyer turned its back on him and walked away.

All the breath went out of Thor's lungs, relief turning his muscles into jelly and lightening his heart. It was like he thought. Loki wasn't lost. He was incapable of killing him. He still loved him, in spite of everything Thor didn't know – everything he should have known.

Then a huge blow struck his cheek and sent him flying backwards, his fragile mortal skull hitting the hard road, and he knew nothing more.


	6. Gunpoint (Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Peter Parker, alias Spider-Man.
> 
> Warning for gun violence.

Parker luck was acting up yet again. Joy.

Peter held his hands up, doing his best to appear non-threatening while trying to find a way to take Mr Delmar's daughter away from the robber who was pointing a gun to her temple.

This was going to be very, very delicate.

“Faster!” the man shouted as Mr Delmar shoved as many notes in a bag as he could, his hands shaking.

“And you, the insect! Don't move, or I shoot her!”

Peter swallowed. “Well technically spiders aren't insects, so I feel somewhat insulted,” he quipped.

“Shut up!” the man said, tightening his grip on Katie.

_Bad move,_ Peter hysterically thought.

“Fine, fine, sorry. Geez, man, no need to be so on edge. Perhaps you should consider a career change, I hear stress levels are high in the crime business.”

“I said shut _up!_”

With a swift wrist move, Peter webbed the mugger's gun then jumped, pulling Katie behind him before pushing her towards Mr Delmar.

“Get down, behind the counter, call the police!”

He turned back towards the mugger to finish tying him up when a gunshot rang. His vision whited out as pain exploded in his leg and he fell down, accompanied by Mr. Delmar and Katie's cries of alarm.

He blinked, breathed through the pain, trying to see where the mugger was. His question was answered when he looked up to see the barrel of a gun right in front of his nose. He froze, swallowed, eyes wide.

“Now you're going to shut it, the bug,” said the mugger in a vicious tone, his finger on the trigger.

Peter jerked his good leg upright, kicking the man in the stomach, and sent webs from both wrists in the mugger's eyes. He cried out and fell backwards, where Peter could finally finish webbing him up, incapacitating him for good.

Trying not to wince, Peter carefully tried to stand up, before falling back down with a hiss. No standing, then. Great.

He let out a huge breath. That had been so close... 

“No, don't move,” Mr Delmar said, coming closer. “He got you good there, you're not going to be able to walk on that. We need to bring you to the hospital.”

“What?” Peter exclaimed. “No, no... I can't go to the hospital.”

He'd need to remove his mask to be admitted in it, and that was something he didn't want to do at any price. It was too dangerous. He couldn't risk his identity to be discovered...

Just imagining May's face if she ever learnt was enough to fill him with dread. So soon after Ben – no. He couldn't do that to her.

“Lad, that's a _gunshot wound_ you have there,” Mr Delmar insisted, sounding bewildered. “You can't just hop away on it.”

“I know, I know, but really I'm fine, Mr Delmar, it's just a graze,” Peter replied, putting his hands on the wound and pushing. It hurt something crazy, but he did his best not to show it. “I heal quickly. I just need to rest a little and then I'll be all good to go.”

In the alley behind their apartment, because there was no way Peter was climbing back to his room while he was still bleeding. Man, fetching the dressings and disinfectant was going to be a pain. He should really start taking some in his backpack.

Mr Delmar shot him a dubious look.

“I seriously doubt that,” he said. “I don't want you to lose a leg or anything because this hasn't been treated. It's all on me, you don't have to worry about it.”

“No, no, please,” Peter held up a hand to prevent him from coming closer, the other still pressed tightly against his calf. His fingers were getting sticky with blood. “I'm used to it.”

That was a lie; it had been three months since Peter had started doing this, he hadn't really gotten around to being shot so much. Frankly, he was freaking out a bit – there was a lot of blood, he hadn't imagined it would bleed so much, oh God, was he going to bleed out? – but he would figure it out. Like he always did.

It was lucky May wouldn't be home before late tonight. It would give Peter the time to put his suit in the washing machine and take it back before she noticed anything.

“Used to it,” repeated Mr Delmar blankly. “How old are you?”

Damn. There was no way Peter was going to tell him the truth.

“Now, that's a very rude question to ask a little spider,” he said, smiling apologetically at Mr Delmar despite knowing he wouldn't see it.

Against the man's protest, Peter tried standing up again, his legs shaking. It felt as if liquid fire was flowing in his veins instead of blood, but he could manage. He didn't have a choice.

There wasn't anybody who could help him with this. It was his own burden to bear.

“Thank you so much for your help, Mr Delmar, but I really need to go,” he said.

He looked back at Katie, tried not to imagine her lying on the sidewalk on a cold November night, her pale face illuminated only by the lights of the police cars.

No. Everybody was alive this time. He'd been on time to save them, there had been no casualties.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he said goodbye to Mr Delmar and Katie then shot a web to the nearest building and jumped up, agony rippling in his leg.

He could have walked, but he didn't want Mr Delmar to find out he lived right opposite his store.

Finally, after a couple minutes that fell more like an hour, Peter dropped into the alley behind his building, where he had left his backpack. The pain flared up a thousand times worse when his injured leg hit the ground, and he collapsed with a whimper, unable to stand any longer.

His leg was throbbing with such intensity Peter had to concentrate really hard to take deep breaths, and all his other limbs felt weak. The thought of moving the few meters that separated him from the cleaning supplies was unbearable. He just remained there, clutching at his wound with white fingers despite the pain it brought him as he waited for the blood flow to stop.

In his head, he could hear Ben's soothing voice, that he had heard so often when he was a kid and grazed his knees while playing, telling him to be a strong boy, that he would be all right. He'd have given anything, in that moment, to feel his uncle's warm arms around him and his kiss on the top of his head.

All alone in the chill of February, he squeezed his eyes shut, rested his forehead on his knee and let escape a choked sob.


	7. Dragged Away (Pepper/Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is late to a press conference. Pepper is not amused.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

9:53. Pepper greeted the journalist with her best business smile, trying not to let her concern show on her face.

The conference was starting in seven minutes, and she still hadn't seen Tony.

She pinched her lips, lightly enough for it not to be noticeable, but so it would vent some of her frustration. This infuriating man couldn't take _anything_ seriously. This wasn't a board meeting, where she could placate the shareholders with reassuring information on the way Stark Industries was run and make them forget Tony's absence. This was a press conference, a publicity event to show the company's new advances in clean energy. It was supposed to restore the public's trust in SI and bring their share price, which had tumbled down in the past few months, a little higher again. But if Tony didn't show up, all her efforts would be moot. The journalists would talk about his absence far more than they'd spread the information Pepper wanted them to get.

Just this once, she wished she could have a press conference without a scandal.

For a while, she had thought Tony had grown past this. He had seemed changed in so many ways after his ordeal in Afghanistan. It had been disorienting at first, as if it was a totally different man that had come back to her; but once she had gotten past the hare-brained ideas about flying armour and shutting down weapon production, she had managed to find her boss again. His experience had changed him, made him more aware of the way the world was working, more appreciative of her efforts, both more afraid and more reckless, but deep down he had stayed the same Tony she had known for so long.

On a day like today, it was _clear_ how much the same he remained at heart.

She checked her watch. 9:58. The room was already full; there were twice as many journalists as usual. They were probably hoping to hear something about Iron Man, she supposed.

“I'm going to start,” she whispered to Happy. “If he arrives, tells him to join me without a fuss. We're trying to make this look normal.”

Happy nodded, and she took a deep breath before walking on stage, standing straight in her impeccably tailored suit.

“Good morning, everyone,” she started. “I am delighted to welcome you today to share the latest inventions of Stark Industries. We have been working twice as hard since we shut down the weapons production division, and this with only one goal in mind: shaping the future of clean –”

“Ms. Potts? Is Tony Stark going to make an appearance?”

Pepper smiled, repressing the urge to sigh. As she had expected, most of the journalists weren't so much interested in their arc reactor technology as in Tony's tendency to outrageous behaviour.

“Mr Stark is a very busy man,” she said. “But I promise you will receive all relevant information concerning our breakthrough today...”

As if on cue, that was the moment Tony chose to walk through the door. Loudly, as it happened, far from the discretion Pepper had hoped. And...

“Here he is, the man of the hour,” she smiled. “Excuse me for a second.”

She all but ran towards him, as much as that was possible with both dignity and three inches tall stilettos.

“Tony,” she whispered, “are you _drunk?_”

He looked like hell. Hair in disarray, he was swaying a little, and his unfocused gaze shone a little too much with recklessness for her to be comfortable with.

“'S okay, Pep, I got this,” he said. “I forgot... I spent too much time in the lab yesterday... but I'm here now, so it's all right, right? Everything's all right.”

“Are you sure you're up to this? I can handle it, it's no trouble. Do you even remember what this is about?”

“The arc reactor tech, clean energy program,” Tony said. “It's all right, Pep, I got this. I got this.”

Pepper was thoroughly unconvinced, but there was no stopping him, it seemed. She discreetly supported him as he walked to the stand, still smiling at the audience.

At first he didn't manage too badly, she thought, still on edge, waiting for the slightest mess-up. His words were slightly slurred, and he went much too in depth in the details of the engineering of their product, so fast she doubted anybody in the room understood a word of it. But he hadn't said anything stupid yet, hadn't given them anything that might be taken out of context –

“Mr Stark, word goes around your Iron Man suit is a dangerous weapon the US government asked you to turn over, is that true?”

Pepper's blood froze. That was the kind of question a Tony in his right mind would have made a mess of. But drunk...

“They're not taking _my_ suit,” Tony answered. “Not as long as I live – which, well, that's not the topic. I am Iron Man. Nobody else gets to be.”

There were whispers, questions overlapping one another, flashes of cameras.

“Last time I agreed to give weapons to other people they were used against me. I don't care if the fucking president asks me my suit, he doesn't get it. Nobody does. There's only one person who's allowed to use the suit and that person is me, everybody else can go –“

Pepper blinked, horrified. She pinched herself; it stung.

“Please tell me I am dreaming,” she whispered to herself. “This is a nightmare, I'm going to wake up.”

She had never seen Tony like that. For all his abrasive, obnoxious ways, he was always completely in control when in public. He didn't seem so today, as he continued to insult the journalists, the American government, and insisting nobody else than he got to be Iron Man.

“That suit is powered by the arc reactor I have in my chest, so even if someone tried to commandeer it, they wouldn't manage anyway. The suit is me, I am the suit, I'm living because of it and I'm gonna die in it, and nobody's going to change that –“

Okay, that was enough. Pepper stepped back on stage and took Tony's arm, interrupting him.

“Tony, time's up. You've got to go.”

“What? Pepper, no, I got this,” Tony said. “I swear to you, I got this, I even reread the cards before coming...”

“You did great, Tony, but it's over now,” Pepper firmly said.

Without waiting for any more of his protests, she subtly but firmly tugged on his arm, thanked the journalists for their time and sent them off, then dragged him off stage.

“What's happening? Pep, what's happening? You're snapping your heels, you only snap your heels when you're upset. What's upset you? I did, didn't I? God, I messed up again, I know I did. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mess up, I –“

“Tony,” Pepper said, “shut up.”

She was relieved when he, indeed, shut up, only to regret it as he shot her the most pitiful puppy look she had ever seen in her life – and considering how long she had known Tony, that was saying something. Despite herself, a smile broke out on her lips. Yes, she regretted making him feel bad, but there was something so comical and endearing in his expression she couldn't help it.

“It's okay, I'm not upset. You did fine,” she lied.

He relaxed, and she swallowed all her questions – what had possessed Tony to drink so much before such an important press conference when his image usually mattered so much to him, what he was doing in his lab yesterday night, what was that whole outburst with the suit about.

There would be time to ask them later, when Tony had slept, eaten, and sobered up.

“You're the best, Pep. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“I don't know either,” she replied, playfully rolling her eyes, even though it really was only half a joke.

“You know I love you, right?”

She froze, looked back at him. There was so much raw emotion and honesty in his gaze it made her heart ache, as if there was something else he wanted to tell her, something his genius mind considered obvious even though it was completely obscure to anybody else.

It stole her breath away, and she had to remind herself he wasn't in his right mind.

“I love you too,” she mouthed anyway, squeezing his forearm.


	8. Isolation (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in his cell, Loki grieves.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Nothing felt real any more.

Loki cast an illusion around him, shielding him from the view of all. He was being quite fed up of being put on display for all to see, of the utter lack of privacy his prison cell afforded him. Less a cell, really, and more a cage in a zoo, showing off the feral animal as it was safely restrained within its enclosure.

He no longer had any reason to obey their petty rules, to preen and pretend to be something he wasn't.

He slid down the wall and sat on the ground. Complete destruction reigned around him, his furniture shattered, his books torn. His once moderately comfortable environment was but a waste, a graveyard.

How fitting, confined here as he was during his own mother's send-off ceremony.

He wanted to break more of his things, to disintegrate everything into atoms, but a bone-deep tiredness had seized him. A muted sort of grief overwhelmed him when he looked at the ruins of the things she had sent him, in her misguided care for a son that was no more.

He looked at the shreds of his books about magical theory, remembered learning the basics of it at her knee, and felt a tightness in his throat.

Loki closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, put his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his already tousled hair.

She wasn't his mother. That family had never been his. His brother shunned him, his father told him he should have died, and she...

She had seemed to care. But it had all been a lie. It must have been.

He wanted to resent Odin for preventing him from saying goodbye to her. But he knew it was all he deserved. What place would a frost giant, a monster, have at the queen's funeral? And he was nothing more than that now – now that he had denied her so utterly, cast her away and disowned their relationship.

He no longer had any right to call himself her son.

She was dead. Loki still had trouble wrapping his head around it. It was so surreal to think she would never come and visit him ever again, that her smile would no longer illuminate any room. Nothing felt different. He hadn't seen her die, hadn't seen her body, wouldn't see her ship depart for Valhalla – for there was nowhere else she could go than to the bright halls of eternal felicity, brave, kind and exceptional as she had been.

And at the same time there was such finality in it it took his breath away. It felt as if she had been the only thread linking him to this family, the only one to remind him of the love he had once thought he felt within these walls. Take her away, and everything collapsed, leaving only ash in its wake.

Take her away, and Loki was nothing but a stranger and a criminal, a monster rotting under the palace, forgotten, discarded to die.

Never in his life – not sitting on Hliðskjálf, nor falling in the void, nor bound and bleeding in Thanos's torture chambers – had he felt so very alone.

It was all his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault. Who knew, if he hadn't told the dark elf the way, how things might have come down? Who knew, if he had made himself look a little more demure, a little less proud, whether they might have let him go?

All at once Loki couldn't breathe. A sudden and powerful need overtook him to get out of here, to leave his cell and never return, with an intensity that hurt. He wanted to pursue the Dokkalfar ships and burn them to the ground, slaughtering each and everyone of them; he wanted to go into exile, lie face down in the Jotun mountains and sleep forever in the snow; he wanted to go back in time and hug his mother tight, never letting her go...

But he couldn't do any of that that. He would be trapped here forever, as was his due, and remember her shape disappearing in front of him, slipping from his fingers for all eternity.

Weak and helpless, as he had ever been.

Devastating rage overcame him, so painful he could do nothing but scream.


	9. Stab Wound (Peter & Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd won. Thanos had been defeated, but at a terrible price.
> 
> Warnings for blood and injury.

They'd won. Thanos had been defeated and his gauntlet was now in the possession of the pretentiously named Guardians of the Galaxy. Not that Tony could really comment on pretentiousness; he _had_ been the poster boy for self-importance and hubris at a point. But he hadn't made any comment. His mind was on other things.

They'd won, but at a terrible price.

“Shhh, buddy, don't move too much,” he said, clasping Peter's hand in his own and trying to meet his strong grip. He would probably have bruises later, but he didn't care. “You're all right, it's gonna be all right.”

Peter's face was white as a sheet, his brow furrowed, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin and dampening the curls of his hair. Tony ran a cloth on his forehead, hating that he couldn't do anything more to alleviate his pain.

Blood was already seeping through Peter's bandage, cursorily made with whatever clean fabric the Guardians had been able to find on their ship. Next to them lay Tony's dagger, the new feature of his suit he'd tried attacking Thanos with before the giant grape had diverted it and turned it back against him.

Peter let out a groan.

“Thought – stab wounds – weren't s'posed to – hurt s'much –“

He gagged, and Tony thought he saw some red at the corner of his lips. He blanched.

“Shh, don't talk, Pete,” he hurried to say. “Just focus on staying awake, okay?”

He threw a panicked glance at Strange.

“Can't you help him? I thought you were supposed to be a doctor?”

Strange pressed his lips together, his gaze focused on Peter.

“A neurosurgeon, Stark,” he said. “I'm not used to this kind of trauma. Furthermore, I lost the precise use of my hands in an accident. Even if I had my tools, I wouldn't dare stitch him. This is all I can do.”

A tug on his hand brought Tony's eyes back on Peter.

“'M fine, Mr. Stark,” the kid had the audacity to say. “S'perhealing, 'member?”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“You sure look fine to me, bud,” he replied. “Real fine. The finest of fine.”

“M being serious. I've had worse.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Peter let out a weak laugh, which Tony counted as a victory.

“Besides, I know that's not true. The AI of your suit, what's her name, Karen, she's directly connected to FRIDAY, who would have warned me if you'd ever been so badly injured, so don't try to lie to me. Lying is bad. Spiderlings like you shouldn't do it.”

“Ah, but you dunno what happ'ned before you gave me th' suit –“

Peter coughed, and Tony's heart missed a beat.

“Seriously, kid. Stop. Talking. Just breathe, try to relax.”

For a moment Peter seemed too out of it to do anything but just that, his eyes closed, his breathing wet and superficial. Tony couldn't bear looking away, afraid he was going to slip away the minute his eyes were no longer on him.

Damn the kid and his – literal – hero complex. Damn his enhanced senses that made him notice what Thanos was planning to do before Tony himself realised. Damn his supernatural speed, which enabled him to push Tony out of the way and get impaled on the blade in his stead.

Granted, it had allowed Tony to fight back and end Thanos in a way he never could have if he'd been wounded, in a way he never would have if not for the desire for revenge and the need to protect his injured kid. Granted, Strange had told him that was an issue he hadn't foreseen at all, and far better than any of the other paths he'd perceived, with Thanos dead before he had the time to snap his fingers and the stones secure with allies.

Still Tony couldn't help but wish things had happened otherwise.

If only they had been back in New York, where Tony could have flown him to the compound in a matter of minutes, gotten him looked at by a hyper trained team of medics in no time at all. But here, in the middle of nowhere, stranded in space...

The Guardians had said they would be back on Earth in five days, because they had fixed the sublight engines but were still working on restoring the main thrusters. Tony was no doctor, but even he knew that by that time Peter would be either out of the woods, either...

No. That wasn't allowed to happen.

“You're going to be the death of me.”

Peter cracked his eyes open and gave him a weak smile.

“Technically, Mr Stark, I just saved your life.”

“No talking, underoos, that's an order,” Tony fired back. “Especially to be sassy like that.”

“But that's how you love me,” Peter protested. “Who else's going to make sure you don't end up as a boring old man?”

Tony didn't answer, just smiled and kept stroking the back of Peter's hand with his thumb. The kid seemed to relax at the motion. Who else, indeed. 

Peter couldn't die. He was too good, always brimming with hope and energy, with a heart bigger than all of Tony's properties combined. He was everything Tony had ever dreamed the future to be.

God, he didn't know how he'd manage to go on if Peter was taken away from him.

“Pete? You still there? Don't fall asleep on me, buddy.”

With a slowness that frightened Tony, Peter opened his eyes once more.

“'M here. 'M not asleep.”

“Good,” Tony replied. “Good. Keep it that way, all right?”

Peter faintly nodded, then closed his eyes again, his head falling back on his pillow. For a second Tony thought he had fallen asleep after all, then the faintest whisper proved him wrong.

“Mr Stark?”

“Yeah, kid?” he answered, leaning towards Peter.

“It's not on you.”

Tony's heart missed a beat.

“What are you talking about? I know, this is entirely on you, and once you're feeling better we're going to have a talk about _jumping in front of knives_ –“

“I mean if I die.”

Tony's heart was definitely getting too old for this. He wasn't sure even the old arc reactor would have helped it withstand this kind of attack.

“You're not going to die, Peter,” he said, not even caring that his voice was cracking. “You can't – God – you _can't_ –“

“I don't want to,” Peter interrupted him. “But if it happens... please don't blame yourself.”

Tony pursed his lips.

“Don't,” he said, his throat too tight. “Don't.”

Peter's eyes were closing again. He was still breathing, Tony reminded himself, he was alive, he wasn't dying, no, not Peter –

“Peter –“ he frantically said. “Peter, stay awake. Stay awake.”

Peter's eyes fluttered, but fell shut just as quickly.

“'M sorry,” he mumbled. “Tired...”

“No, no, Peter, kid, _please_ –“

“Stark,” Strange chimed in. “Let him sleep. He needs the rest.”

“No,” Tony snarled back. “He's not – resting or anything – I'm not losing him! I don't care what you can or can't do, _he's going nowhere_ –“

“Stark,” Strange snapped, and Tony calmed down somewhat. “He needs his rest to heal. Were you considering keeping him awake for five days straight?”

His heartbeat slowing down somewhat, Tony realised he had. He wasn't even sure how himself was going to sleep, to leave Peter's side for even a second, knowing he could slip away any time.

“He's strong,” Strange added. “There's nothing you can do for him but trust him to get better. If he's going to pull through, he will.”

Tony didn't answer, but kept his eyes on Peter's chest, whose movement was slowing down, deepening as he fell asleep. Asleep, Tony thought with some insistence. Not unconscious.

Not dead.

Perhaps it was only Tony's desperate hope, but it seemed to him that Peter regained some colour in the hours after, and that the next time they changed the dressing of his wound, the red stain on it seemed smaller.


	10. Shackled (Thor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was wrong, to see him like that.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

It was wrong, to see him like that.

His little brother, so proud, so free, never afraid to speak his mind. Not that he often spoke his mind, unless in riddles and puzzles of all kinds; he was a private person, jealously guarding the secret of his thoughts unless he was displeased with something Thor had done.

But for him to be thus chained, gagged like a beast... that wasn't right.

Thor knew it had to be so. After witnessing the destruction Loki had wrought on the city of New York, he had accepted he needed to harden his heart and restrain him in an effective way. Loki was dangerous and unpredictable. If he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to escape or attack him, that was the only thing to do.

That hadn't lessened the regretful nausea in his gut when he had to look into Loki's fierce and fiery eyes, always defiant, an eyebrow raised with a daring smirk as he wordlessly held out his hands to be bound.

This wasn't how he had wanted to bring his brother home. This wasn't how any of this was supposed to happen. Thor wanted to be happy. Loki lived, his fallen brother was alive. That was a miracle he hadn't dared hope for, save for the sweet delusions he had indulged in the throes of grief. 

When he had learnt the news, Thor had barely been able to believe it. He had been overjoyed, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders or a deep hole in his guts repaired, filled with an overwhelming euphoria that made him want to embrace the universe. He had wanted to hold Loki tight in his arms and not let him go, to make him understand that he would always, always be welcome.

But it wasn't a brother and a son Thor would be bringing back to Asgard. It was a prisoner, a criminal, and it pained him to realise he had no idea how Loki would be received by his own parents. The images of joyful reunion he had fantasised about ever since he had learnt Loki was alive had drifted out of his grasp, and a different kind of grief was seizing him now.

Perhaps he had been deluding himself all this time by thinking things could ever go back to what they were. Perhaps even though Loki wasn't dead, he was lost all the same.

Thor didn't want it to be true, but the more time passed, the most he found himself confronted with the idea. Each of Loki's actions seemed designed to plunge him into despair.

It wasn't as though Thor was unfamiliar with that attitude. Often as children had Loki antagonised him for the sole purpose of it, trying to see how far he could go, how much he could push before Thor broke. Thor had proved more than once he could be just as stubborn as his brother – for Loki remained his brother, now and forever, no matter how much he denied it.

But Thor was tired of these games. He was tired of Loki's sinuous and complicated mind, of his endless manipulations and lies, as if he was purposely avoiding to be understood. As if he wanted to push people away, to reject companionship.

Of all the things, that was perhaps what made Thor the saddest. 

He had once thought them to be the greatest team in the Nine Realms, inseparable, of one mind and one purpose, bound by love, blood and a mutual understanding that nothing could ever break.

Instead he silently held a shackled Loki by the arm as they waited for the Bifrost, contemplating the invisible wall that had grown between them, and mourning for everything that could have been.


	11. Unconscious (Thor & Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki go on an adventure.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

“Thor, please. I'm tired. Let's go back home.”

Thor looked at his younger brother. Loki was hugging his arms close to his body, but his pout let Thor know it wasn't so much from the cold as out of stubbornness.

“Come on, Loki. Don't be a coward.”

“I'm not!” Loki fired back, incensed. “I am just having enough of fruitlessly wandering in these mists!”

“It won't remain fruitless for long,” Thor said. “But it wouldn't be a quest if the monster was that easy to find.”

“It's only a quest because you decided it was one. Nobody is in need of saving from that serpent. In fact, stories about it are so few and far between it might very well be just a myth!”

“Or it might be that nobody ever dared going after it and we'll be the ones slaying it.”

Loki shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked a rock out of sheer spite. It rolled a bit further, then left the path they were travelling on and tumbled down the steep slope of the mountain.

“We can't even see the sun through this fog. For all we know, night is falling and we'll soon be walking in the dark.”

“We haven't been gone _that_ long,” Thor growled. “Stop complaining.”

Of course, Loki being Loki, he didn't.

“This is a terrible idea,” he went on. “I told you so before we even departed, but did you listen? Of course not, you always have to rush into things, and goodness forbid you listen to what others have to say about your dubious plans –“

“Loki, stop,” Thor snapped. “You were the one who insisted to come.”

“So you would not leave on your own!” Loki shouted, his fists clenched tight. “Because I didn't want to walk the exact same way tomorrow only to find your corpse in the woods!”

“If you don't stop this, I will leave you behind and you're the one who are going to be found dead.”

“Except I know the way back better than you do. I bet you have no idea where we are.”

Thor clammed up, not wanting Loki to know he was right. So what if in his enthusiasm he'd neglected to throw more than a cursory glance at the maps? Trees looked all similar to one another, anyway.

Well, fine, perhaps he had left somewhat rashly. But they were following the path. Going the same way in the opposite direction couldn't be so difficult, could it?

They walked in silence some more when Loki froze.

“Thor...”

“Come on, brother, stop this childish whining –” snapped Thor, more than fed up.

“No, that's not it,” Loki said, holding a hand upright, and Thor realised all the annoyance was gone from his voice, replaced with alarm. “I think I heard something.”

Thor was immediately on the lookout, intently listening, a hand on Mjølnir's handle. A wild animal, perhaps – or maybe the monster they were looking for –

“Jormungand,” he whispered, his heart accelerating in dread and in excitement.

Next to him, Loki rolled his eyes.

“Or any other beast, you oaf, a legendary snake isn't the only thing –“

The end of his sentence cut off abruptly, letting an ominous growl be heard. Something moved in the branches close to Loki's side, and Thor's blood froze.

In front of them stood a huge brown bear, as tall as twice Thor's height.

Thor's horror only grew when he saw Loki step backwards then incomprehensibly collapse to the ground, motionless. The bear came closer to him, and Thor reacted without thinking. He charged forward with an enraged battle cry, holding Mjolnir high above his head.

He wouldn't let that beast hurt Loki.

To his surprise, upon hearing him Loki rolled on his feet and ran to meet him, arms held out.

“Thor, no! Play dead, play dead, it'll leave if you –“

He couldn't finish his sentence before the beast's paw sent him flying, falling down face down a few yards farther.

Thor knew he probably should have laid down as well, but he was too angry to listen to reason. He swung Mjolnir again, and then once more and one time after that, with such strength the bear fell and didn't rise again.

Thor stood over it for a minute, checking that it was indeed dead and not going to attack them again, then he hung Mjolnir at his belt and headed towards Loki.

“The danger is over, brother,” he said. “You can stand up again.”

His brother didn't answer, didn't even move.

“Loki?”

Frowning, Thor crouched next to him and shook his shoulder, calling his name again. He expected a trick, for Loki to jump and surprise him; with the resentment he'd expressed earlier, it wouldn't have been out of character.

“Come on, brother, stop this,” he said. “I will not fall for it.”

He turned Loki on his back, and froze.

A thin dash of blood was trickling from his forehead.

“Loki,” Thor shook him again, with more urgency this time. “Loki, wake up.”

But he didn't, and Thor was starting to get worried. Thankfully he was still breathing, his pulse strong and regular, but it was a small sliver of light.

After ten minutes of that endeavour, Thor finally had to admit defeat. Sick with worry, he sat on the ground next to Loki, staring at his unresponsive form.

What should he do? How could he help him? He didn't know the medical arts at all; nor could he weave a protection spell, to make sure nothing worse would befall him.

For once, Thor found himself completely powerless.

There couldn't be question of continuing the quest now, of course. Thor needed to get home as soon as he could to get his brother looked at, and for a moment he wondered if Loki wasn't doing it on purpose.

Still, Loki's safety was more important than the possibility that this be another one of his tricks.

Trying not to resent his little brother too much, and to calm the worry in his heart, Thor took Loki in his arms. He hauled him on his back, trying not to jostle him too much, and couldn't hold back a grunt at his weight.

“Hold on tight, brother. We're going home, like you wanted.”

Loki didn't answer. Thor set out on the narrow path, feeling more lonely than ever. 

Thankfully, the way back was going down, making it easier to tread than the outward journey was. Still Thor made haste until his breath laboured, weighed down even more by his precious burden on the shoulders and the concern it caused. Loki still wasn't waking up, and Thor couldn't stop every ten steps to check that he was still breathing.

He could only hope and walk.

The fogs had thickened even more, a faint drizzle permeating everything around them, making Thor even more dejected. This outing was a complete disaster. He wanted to be home already, near the fire in the hearth, in the safety of the palace with his family.

It became clear after another half hour – or something like it, Thor couldn't really tell without seeing the sun – that the darkness wasn't only due to the clouds. Night was falling, and it was starting to be difficult to see.

As much as Thor wanted to soldier on and be home by nightfall to sleep in his own bed, he had to admit that was unlikely. If he didn't look for shelter now, then he would spend the night in the open, and that was something he knew to avoid at all cost.

The last lights of the day were disappearing when he finally found a suitable cave: reasonably dry, big enough for both Loki and he but not too large either, and as such unlikely to host beasts. One had been enough; Thor didn't want to make any other wild encounter.

He set his little brother down as delicately as he could, laying him on his side on the rocks, before taking off his cloak and spreading it on top of him. He didn't want him to catch a cold on top of everything else.

It was so dark, he couldn't see Loki's face at all. Two fingers on his neck told him he lived, at least; but Thor couldn't know anything beyond that, couldn't know how serious Loki's wounds were, if he'd received a dangerous blow to the head or sustained internal bleeding in the stomach. Thor was terrified Loki was going to slip away before he could notice. He didn't know what he would do if he was forced to bring his brother's body back home.

But Loki was alive, Loki was strong, Loki would make it. It could be that this was far more benign that Thor knew, and he was worrying for nothing.

He hesitated for a couple of seconds, unwilling to leave Loki in the cave while he headed out; but the night would be dark, humid and cold, and they needed a fire. Wishing he had at least some kind of light, Thor forced himself to leave, promising the unconscious Loki that he would be back soon.

He hurried to take as many dead branches as he could in his arms then go back to the cave. Nothing had changed there, to his relief; Loki was still deep under, at the very same place. Shivering without his cape, Thor dropped down the wood at a safe distance. It was humid, but that thankfully wouldn't prevent Thor from lighting the fire. He took Mjolnir in his hand and set it above the wood, hoping he wasn't going to burn himself and Loki to crisps before summoning as little lightning as he could.

The wood set ablaze in a way that startled Thor. He jumped back in time not to be harmed, and couldn't help but grin at his success. That, at least, was something he'd done right today.

“See, brother, we're not going to get cold tonight,” he said, hoping Loki would finally answer him. “I know you didn't want to camp out, but I didn't have a choice.”

They didn't have anything to eat, though. Thor's stomach growled. He'd forgotten to pack snacks, of course; Loki might have, but Thor wasn't in the mood to rummage through his sack to check. He wasn't all that hungry, anyway.

He sighed. The firelight was dancing on Loki's too still features, giving some artificial warmth to his complexion, still too much in contrast with the darkness of his curls. Thor took his hand, needing to reassure himself that Loki was there, with him, alive. His skin was a little too cold, but no more than usual, no more than was normal in these conditions. Nowhere near the terrible cold of death – or at least, that was what Thor hoped.

“Please wake up, brother,” he whispered. “I'll apologise and confess you were right a thousand times if you wake up. It is so lonely here without your tricks and your sarcastic words.”

But Loki didn't respond, and Thor stared into the fire, his throat too tight.

“You can't leave for Valhalla without me,” he whispered, knowing Loki didn't hear him, but needing to say the words all the same. “I forbid it.”

The fire crackling was all the noise Thor heard. He kept his eyes riveted on the entrancing shapes, keeping vigil with a heavy heart.

He didn't know when he had dozed off, sleep overtaking him in spite of himself. When he woke, the fire was dying out, the temperature too cold against his arms, which were covered only in metal sleeves.

“Thor?”

Never had a mere whisper filled him with so much joy. Immediately awake, he turned towards his brother, who was sitting up, a hand held up to his forehead.

“Loki!” he exclaimed, trying to see the expression on his face. “Don't push yourself too much, brother. How are you feeling?”

“Where are we?”

“A cave in the mountains,” Thor explained, a bit sheepish. “Night surprised me before I could make it back home.”

Loki weakly nodded, then squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Are you still feeling ill?” Thor asked. “You stayed unconscious for hours. Is there something you need?”

“Some quiet,” Loki replied. “I have a headache nearly as mighty as you.”

Thor nodded, about to reply before he swallowed his words, unwilling to annoy Loki so soon after he woke.

Seeing his eyes open was a relief unlike Thor had ever experienced. He had truly feared him lost, he realised. The thought was too awful to truly consider. He didn't know what he would do without Loki, and finding him back took a huge weight off his heart. He grinned, incapable to repress it.

Loki brought his knees up, put his arms around them before setting his chin on top of them. Thor's cape slipped from his shoulders, and he grasped it before looking at him, vague surprise on his face.

“Thank you,” he said, holding it back to Thor. “I no longer need it.”

“Keep it,” Thor replied. “There is a cold chill here.”

“Yes, and you know I bear low temperatures better than you do. Don't be stupid, Thor.”

Thor sighed but took the cape anyway, knowing better than to argue with his stubborn brother. Seized by an idea, he shuffled closer to Loki and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, draping the cape on them both.

“This way neither of us has to suffer from the cold.”

Somehow Thor could hear Loki rolling his eyes at him. His grin only grew wider.

“You are a moron, brother. Some day your idiocy will kill you.”

_No, you are the one it nearly killed,_ Thor thought. He was opening his mouth, an apology and an oath half-formed on his tongue, when Loki unexpectedly relaxed against his side and leant his head against his shoulder. Relishing the too-rare embrace, Thor brought him closer against him, holding him tight.

He wouldn't make that mistake again, he swore. As long as he lived, he would protect his little brother, against his own rashness and every other danger in existence.

If he had anything to say about it, Loki would never die before he did.


	12. Stitches (Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was hurt and Happy picks up the pieces in more ways than one.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Peter sat in the chair of the jet, jumping each time the needle penetrated his skin, all his senses on the alert despite their uselessness. The danger was over now; he'd have liked an earlier warning better, like before the train hit him.

Happy kept telling him to relax, and it only served to aggravate him further. Everything hurt, and he felt like a wreck. His muscles were still strung tight as a wire, but he couldn't get them to unwind. There was a heavy weight in his gut, and his throat hurt from how tight it was. He felt like a fool, like a loser, like a failure.

He had the impression that if he released any of that tension, he was going to unravel like a fraught thread and collapse into sobs. Unfortunately, no amount of stitches would be able to repair the tears of his wounded heart.

How could he have messed up that badly? In hindsight, Beck had laid the perfect trap for him. His backstory was ridiculous, but after Thanos's attack, he hadn't thought to doubt it. When he'd offered a sympathetic ear to Peter, someone who understood, Peter hadn't imagined it was all a con.

He'd played into the man's hand completely and utterly, and couldn't know whether to feel more angry and betrayed at Beck or at his own stupidity.

One more stitch, one more jump, one more “relax, Peter.” Peter leant forward, putting his head in his hand and squeezing his eyes shut in order to avoid crying.

Now he no longer even had Mr Stark's glasses.

Granted, that also meant he no longer had EDITH, and all things considered that was a lot worse. But, selfish as it was, it was losing Tony's glasses that made him the saddest.

The glasses were Mr Stark's bequest to him. They were something he had chosen to leave to Peter, a gift from beyond the grave. They were one of his belongings, something he had used in his everyday life, before giving them to Peter. He'd _wanted_ Peter to have them, deemed him worthy of using such a formidable tool as the AI and the weapon associated to it that he'd created.

And Peter had given all of that away.

It made him feel as if he'd somehow scorned his mentor, discarded his gift as though he didn't care about it. He couldn't help wonder, in a way he knew to be terribly irrational, whether Mr Stark had seen him from where he was, and was now disappointed in him, or hurt, or angry?

It made him feel as if he'd lost Mr Stark all over again.

The needle pierced his skin once more, and Peter jumped to his feet, unable to take it any more. He snapped at Happy, then apologised and burst into tears. Thankfully, the man didn't judge him at all, only offered words of comfort and reassurance. 

Maybe stitches couldn't repair wounded hearts, but the right words helped, sometimes.


	13. "Don't move" (Tony & Rhodey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, Tony woke up with the worst hangover he'd ever experienced.
> 
> Warning for brief mentions of torture.

Unsurprisingly, Tony woke up with the worst hangover he'd ever experienced.

But then, he often woke up with the worst hangover he'd ever experienced. A bit too often, perhaps; not that he cared. He let out a groan and tried to sit up, only to find a hand on his shoulder pushing him back.

“Hey, man, don't move. Take it easy there.”

Tony fell back on the bed and raised a hand to his forehead, groaning. He felt as though his headache was going to split his skull in two, and even thinking was difficult.

He tried anyway. Something was off. He was pretty sure he shouldn't have a hangover.

His bed was less comfortable than it should have been, and the fraction of a second during which he'd opened his eyes before shutting them again, the light too piercing to bear, had been enough to notice he didn't recognise the colour of the walls.

He tried his best to recall the party Rhodey had undoubtedly dragged him from, but nothing came to mind.

Actually, it didn't even really feel like a hangover. No nausea, to start with. And his chest hurt. Everything in his body hurt, his mouth was dry, and he felt too warm on his arms, like he'd gotten a bad sunburn. What the hell had he been getting himself into?

“Rhodey,” he tried to sit up again, “what –“

Again his best friend pushed him back.

“Dammit, Tony, can't you just be reasonable and rest for once in your life. I think the circumstances warrant it.”

There was a strange emotion in Rhodey's voice. Tony frowned again, still confused. A regular sound was playing in the background, like a plane's reactors, and suddenly he remembered.

The cave. The terrorists. Yinsen. The metal suit...

Tony's eyes widened, he gripped Rhodey's arm as tight as he could.

“Rhodey,” he said. “Rhodey.”

He didn't know how to start asking everything he wanted to. His thoughts went too fast, were too jumbled, and the words wouldn't come.

“It's all right, Tones. We found you. We're going home now. We're going back to America. You're safe.”

Tony only barely heard him through the feeling of water on his face, the dry and rancid smell of the cave, the terror of waking with the battery attached to his chest, Yinsen's too still face with the glasses askew, too many images, too real, too fast –

“Tony. Tony, focus on me. Can you see me? Look at me, look at my face. Breathe in and out, yes, like that.”

And Tony breathed like he'd just gotten his head out of the water. Rhodey's grasp was firm on him, looking at him with concern written all over his features. He gripped Rhodey's arms as well, held him tight.

“I'm never making weapons again,” Tony said, a little too loud, just to hear his voice. “That's out, finished, I'm over it.”

Rhodey huffed with a smile.

“I'm sure, Tones.”

That was the exact same answer he tended to give him whenever Tony swore off alcohol forever after a particularly boozy party.

“No, I'm serious,” Tony said. “First thing I'm doing when I'm home is shutting down SI's weapon manufacturing division.”

Rhodey looked at him with something undecipherable in his gaze, something between pity, compassion and apprehension that Tony really couldn't care for.

“All right. All right, man, but we won't be home before another eight hours at least, so would you please lie down –“

“No,” Tony snapped, incomprehensible anger rising in him. “I'm not lying down any more. Bring me a wheelchair if you have to, but I'm not lying down, I was shot by my own fucking shrapnel, I'm shutting down the weapon production if it's the last thing I do and I'm _not lying down_ –”

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey cut him off, and Tony immediately regretted his outburst. “I'm getting you a wheelchair.”

Tony nodded and looked away, feeling somewhat remorseful until Rhodey patted his shoulder.

“It's going to be all right,” he said.

Tony looked him in straight in the eye, feeling the arc reactor burn like fire in his chest.

“Damn right it is. I'm gonna _make_ it right.”


	14. Adrenaline (Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, perhaps Tony was onto something that time he'd off-handedly accused Peter of being an adrenaline junkie.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Truth be told, perhaps Tony was onto something that time he'd off-handedly accused Peter of being an adrenaline junkie.

It was during one of their tinker sessions in Tony's lab – the mere concept of it was still freaking Peter out by how cool it was, by the way. He still had no idea how it had happened; it had started with Tony giving him his personal number right after Peter had declined being part of the Avengers, a series of texts, an offer to repair a tear in Peter's suit, and now Peter was spending most of his weekends when May worked upstate, either training or keeping Tony company while the two nerded out in his lab.

Turned out Tony was actually a massive dork, and Peter had a lot of fun calling him out on that. Not like Tony held out on teasing him either; it was all quid pro quo, really. The awkwardness of the trip to Germany had all but subsided, and Peter rarely had as much fun in his life as when working with Tony on various projects, sometimes even Avengers-related.

The topic had come up when Peter was discussing the potential advantages of adding elasticity to his web fluid, which Tony had immediately vetoed.

“Nope, no can do. Increasing it by 0.15% isn't such a bad idea, it'll break the shocks of your skycraper-hopping better, but anything more than that is a no-go, you'll just lose out on tensile strength.”

“It would be so fun though,” Peter answered. “I could make even bigger jumps. Like bungee-jumping, but better.”

“Until you crash on the sidewalk because your web fluid couldn't hold your weight.”

Peter broke out in a huge grin, deliberately provocative.

“Come on, that's part of the thrill!”

Tony gave him that unimpressed stare that he'd since learnt was mostly sarcastic, and Peter's smile only widened.

“Do you have a death wish or are you such an addict to adrenaline?” he asked. “No, because that's a terrible idea if I ever heard one.”

“Coming from the guy who built a flying suit out of scraps in the desert, that's kinda hypocritical, Mr Stark.”

Only his spider senses allowed him to dodge the half-eaten apple flying towards him, and he laughed out loud this time.

But maybe that wasn't completely wrong. There were few things that brought Peter so much joy as flying in the air, jumping from web to web and bouncing as fast as a bird. It was exhilarating to play with gravity like that, feel its effects on his body, its small thrills in his stomach.

For the longest time he'd thought it was the physicality and the freedom of it. Men had always wanted to fly, and granted, that wasn't completely what Peter was doing, but it was close enough for it to be even better. He'd thought it was the power of being in the air like that, of going wherever he wanted to go in a way that was uniquely his. 

He'd thought the idea that it was the thrill of adrenaline was ridiculous. He'd like it just as much if it was completely safe.

But now, standing atop Tower 28 with a nervous MJ clinging to him, about to jump down like he'd done so many times, he realised perhaps Tony was right. This was different, butterflies in his stomach as if he was rediscovering the sensation for the first time. He was so much more anxious than he usually was.

And yet, somehow, that made it even better.


	15. Tear-stained (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had known it was coming. He had denied it, run from it, tried to forget it, but he had always known Thanos would eventually find him.
> 
> Warnings for major character death and strangulation.

Loki stood on the ship, transfixed, frozen, horrified. Death drifted everywhere around him, corpses and dying people covering the floor, blood reeking in the air, seizing him at the throat.

This was a nightmare. More precisely, this had been Loki's nightmare for six years, and he berated himself for his idiocy, his delusion in trying to convince himself it wouldn't come.

_There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you._

_You think you know pain? He'll make you long for something sweet as pain._

He had known it was coming. He had denied it, run from it, tried to forget it, but he had always known Thanos would eventually find him.

And now he had doomed all Asgard as well.

It was unfair, some part of him wanted to rage. Just as he had found some kind of truce with Thor again, just as his adoptive home started to accept him once more, it had to be torn from him. Would there never be peace for him?

Of course there couldn't be any now.

Even so, he had done his best to fight. He had tried to trick Thanos, to avoid giving him the Tesseract, to send the Hulk after him. He had helplessly seen him restrain his brother and vanquish the green beast that was their last hope. Every single effort had been reduced into ashes, as he had known it would be.

Then the Titan had taken the Space Stone, and all remaining hope had left him.

He stood in the shadow of a corner, shaking, more wretched and weak than he ever remembered feeling as he watched Thanos preen in the middle of the bodies. Flashes of memory flared up in his mind, torture and helplessness and humiliation. They came back to him like the tide, inevitable as he stood in the midst of his tormentors once more.

A reckless flame was burning within him, feeding off his despair, rising higher with each passing moment.

He wouldn't let him win. He wouldn't cower before this tyrant like a pitiful worm, vanquished and crushed like a coward. He was Loki of Asgard, of Jotunheim, the god of mischief and chaos. He wouldn't be so easily brought low.

Echoes of pain and pleading, of blood and broken bones, of screams and jeers and insult resounded in his ears, impossible to banish, stirring potent and helpless rage within him. No more, no more, he wouldn’t bear it again, he was stronger than that.

(But he had always been the weakest of the royal family, hadn't he?)

Loki wanted to live. For the first time in centuries, he longed for life, desperately, truly, completely. And more than anything, that was what cemented in him the certainty that everything was over.

Never in his life had he been granted his heart's deepest wishes. There would be no exit now, no escape, no respite, no solace.

But if he had to die, let him at least die honourably. If everything had to be torn from him, let him at least keep dignity and purpose. He would strike a last blow to his enemy, bring him down with him, protect those he cared about.

Even if it was too late for him, perhaps he could still save Thor's life.

He stood motionless in the dark, fury and terror warring in his mind as he weighed his options. Then in a reckless flash, a feverish second of determination, he made his decision.

His heart in his throat, he took a step forward.

He offered words of servitude, his silver tongue clumsy, honeyed vows encumbered with sarcasm and furious hatred he barely managed to conceal. He smoothed his features in a smile, stood mockery and dismissal without a protest, falling back into a role he knew too well.

His thoughts were dampened, slowed down, caught in a creel of suffocating rage. He felt like throwing up.

He advanced still, sustaining Thanos's gaze without flinching, proudly proclaiming his titles, flaunting a false pledge of allegiance. It was the most blatant lie he had ever told, and wasn't it fitting, now, at the end?

Then he looked sideways to Thor, and faltered.

His brother was straining against his chains, on his knees. He was gagged and restrained in a way that once would have vindicated Loki, but now only brought him pain. His gaze was fixed on Loki, full of too many things to read from so far, in the dark.

His cheeks were bathed in tears, glistening in the starlight.

It took Loki's breath away. His heart ached, and once more he was overwhelmed with powerful desire to live, with regret and longing for everything that could have been and never would be. Thor's sorrow cut him to the core, reached him to the deepest of his being, for he shared it wholeheartedly.

He whispered a last veiled acknowledgement of their bond, hoping his brother would understand the words he couldn't say. He hated that they were denied real goodbyes, that even their last moments together were desecrated by the Titan who had already destroyed everything.

Then, in a last movement of hatred, he lunged forward with everything he had.

It was a pitiful attack, born of frantic dread and despair, far below the elaborate plans Loki's mind was able to concoct. Of course, Thanos saw through it. He seized Loki's wrist in a moment that lasted forever, then slowly twisted his arm and crushed his throat in his fist.

Loki thrashed and struggled for breath, unable to help this last instinct from taking over, excruciating and humiliating as it was. He keenly felt Thor's horrified eyes on him, heard the scream he was unable to let out.

“You will never be a god,” he managed to rasp out at Thanos, a final remnant of his broken wit as his own tears finally spilled on his cheeks, his vision starting to black out.

His last thought was a silent apology to his brother, his last emotions love and grief and a prayer that Thor would recover and thrive; and perhaps that was a victory at last, in a life where he had scarcely done anything but lose.

He didn't look away from death as it came for him with a snap of his neck.


	16. Scars (Tony/Pepper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bandages had come off earlier today, and Tony felt like a new man.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

The bandages had come off earlier today, and Tony felt like a new man.

The surgery had been hazardous and heavy, which was part of why he had put it off for so long. Who, after all, would live with a reactor in their chest for as long as he had, if there were reasonable alternatives? But the shrapnel had lain too close to his heart, tiny pieces of metal buried deep inside his chest. The magnet casing, too, had caused damage, and a great part of his ribcage had had to be reconstructed. It had taken the best and most precise surgeons to carry him through the three five hour long surgeries.

He had made it, eventually. The arc reactor had left his body, Tony Stark and Iron Man physically separate entities for the first time.

Tony felt wonderful, as good as new. Even better, he knew Pepper was happy about it, too.

She hadn't pressured him to go through the surgery at all. She had helped him look into it, had offered her very professional and objective advice, but always without judgement. Tony had found it quite off-putting, for Pepper tended to be very vocal when it came to her feelings about Iron Man. He was better at making decisions when she made her opinion known, whether he followed her advice or went completely the other way.

He knew she had worried during the surgeries themselves. She'd stayed by his side, never drifting away from their usual friendly and flirtatious banter, but Tony had seen the tension in her face, the way she bit her lower lip, the way her gaze tended to drift down towards his chest. She had borne the full weight of Stark Industries and of caring for him during that time. Each time Tony thought he couldn't admire her more, he was proven wrong. 

But all of this had been worth it, he thought, laying on his side in his bed, his head propped up on his hand. 

The room was dark, darker than it had been in years, free at last from the bright blue beacon of the arc reactor. Tony had forgotten how lines and contours could blur together, softer, barely defined. Pepper's face was bathed in shadows, her thoughtful smile barely sketched in the darkness as her fingertips lightly traced the surgery scars on his ribcage. He watched her in wonder, entranced and relaxed. Everything seemed possible in the newfound mystery of night, in the depth of obscurity that welcomed confidences and dreams.

Yes, it had all been worth it.


	17. Pinned Down (Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter couldn't move. It was dark, and it was humid, and water was falling on his face, and he _couldn't move_.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Peter couldn't move.

It was dark, and it was humid, and water was falling on his face, and he _couldn't move_.

With great difficulty, he managed to shift his arm enough to tear his mask away from his face. Secret identities be damned, he needed to breathe, which he did as deeply as he could once his nose was freed.

His lungs were still bearing the weight of the concrete, though, and he spluttered and wheezed in panic.

He couldn't move.

“Help! Please, anyone, I'm down here, I'm stuck!”

Moist dust was covering his face, getting into his nose. It was dark, and from where he was Peter couldn't see the sky.

Nobody could hear him. Even if they did, Peter doubted they would come and rescue him from under tons of concrete. He was well and truly trapped.

He was going to die here. 

It felt as if the darkness was closing in on him. He still had trouble breathing, and was completely pinned down by the building, his legs hindered and motionless.

Was that how people who were buried alive felt like?

His panic increased, ugly sobs coming out of him as he continued to cry out, knowing very well nobody would come. His back and legs hurt, and so did the side of his hand where he'd tried to hold back the rubble from collapsing against him. The position was incredibly uncomfortable, but Peter couldn't shift at all, even a little.

Nobody was ever going to realise what had happened to him. Aunt May would wait for him to come home well after his death, and Mr Stark...

_If you die, I feel like that's on me._

Mr Stark would be angry against him. And blame himself, apparently – although he couldn't fail to understand this was all Peter's fault in the end.

A bit lower, Peter saw his mask in a puddle, soaked, too low for him to take it back. His pitiful mask with the swimming goggles. He didn't feel like Spider-Man at all now, drenched and terrified as he was. Just like a stupid kid who'd bit off more than he could chew and was paying the price.

It was exactly like Mr Stark had told him. He was nothing without the suit, he shouldn't have it.

But it was so unfair. Why give him that suit if it was only to take it back afterwards? Why give him such hope and confidence, if as soon as he demonstrated some initiative he was forced to stand down?

Was he only supposed to follow Mr Stark's orders nicely, without ever thinking by himself?

He thought of the man's dismissal, of Happy ignoring his texts, of his constant need to prove himself worthy of the Avengers only to get told off and instructed to go play farther. Granted, the thing with the ferry had been a disaster, mostly his fault. But what was he supposed to do? Wait passively for others to take care of the threats when he _was_ there, he _could_ do something?

He couldn't just ignore crime when it was right under his nose, just because some older and richer superhero had decided that wasn't Peter's problem. Ignoring crime had cost him Uncle Ben, it was exactly what he'd sworn never to do again. If Mr Stark couldn't understand that, tough for him.

He didn't need some fancy suit. He was Spider-Man, with or without gadgets, and nobody was going to change that.

Below him, the mask seemed to be half covering the reflection of his face, as if cementing his resolve. He recalled more clearly than ever his interaction with Mr Stark that day.

_If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have it._

Mr Stark wasn't the one who had told him he was nothing without that suit. Peter was the one who had felt inaccurate, too small, too weak, who had felt the need to prove himself. And for what? Who were the Avengers really? As awesome and cool as Mr Stark was, who was he to Peter?

Peter was the one who'd gotten bitten by a spider. Peter was the one who'd created the webfluid and designed the webshooters. Peter was the one who had lost Uncle Ben to a mugger he'd let go, and then sworn to always use his powers to protect others. He might only be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but that didn't mean he wasn't a badass in his own right, with his own reasons, his own story.

Peter _was_ Spider-Man. It wasn't in his dress, it was in his blood.

And if being a superhero meant getting stuck under a building sometimes, then he needed to do like all superheroes and get out of it. He could do it. He had superpowers. His stickiness wouldn't help him much, but he also had super strength.

He could do this.

Peter took a deep breath, then started pushing as much as he could. At first the building didn't bulge, and he nearly thought his powers wouldn't be enough; then it shifted, slowly, the concrete shrieking above him, and Peter breathed better.

He grunted, all his muscles screaming for a respite, but he kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Inch by inch the ruins of the building gave way until Peter stood tall once again, free of his movements, amazed at what he'd just managed to do.

There wasn't any time to lose. He had a plane to get back on track.


	18. "Stay with me" (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tries to get a fallen Thor to rise.
> 
> Warnings for major character death.

“Brother. Thor, wake up!

“You're not supposed to stay down. Stand up! Is this really the golden prince of Asgard, the heir to the throne, sprawling on the ground so? Where is your fight now, brother? Where is your bravery?

“You always rush to the front line in every battle, dive head-first into the melee with Mjølnir in your fist and a cry at the top of your lungs. No matter how much I advise you to think before you act, to consider the consequences of your actions, you never listen to me. Would you, by any miracle, finally see the wisdom of taking time to ponder your attack? If that is the case, know that I will never let it go, and you will forever hear of this day.

“Thor. Brother. Enough of this sulking now. Is this some kind of revenge? Have I done something to warrant this silence?

“Oh, I see. It is payback for all the times you thought me dead, isn't it. I must say it is so very mature of you to hold that against me when I had no control over it whatsoever. You must be even more of an oaf than I thought you to be if you truly believed I _intended_ to meet the Chitauri when I feel from the Bifrost, or that I faked that blade the dark elf ran through my chest! You know, it actually hurt. I wouldn't inflict that on myself on purpose; one must really be stupid to do so.

“Come _on_, Thor.

“Fine. I apologise. I'm sorry for making you worry and grieve without cause. I never meant to, and I regret putting you through that.

“I – I really mean it, you know. If you wanted to make me understand what you've gone through, you succeeded. I understand it now.

“Did you hear what I just said? You must not have, but I will not repeat it. I am disappointed, brother, I expected better from you. What, not even a “you are incapable of sincerity,” or a “stop jesting, Loki?” You're losing your touch.

“I thought you were supposed to be the better of us? The elder, the more forgiving? Because that is not coming through at all. Father would be disappointed in you. So would Mother, if she knew. Clearly you can hold a grudge even longer than I do!

“Thor, I'm sorry. I know I said I wouldn't repeat it, but I did, hear, I'm saying it again. I'm sorry, brother... I'm sorry, I – I didn't know – I didn't mean it...

“Please talk to me. Or move. Just open your eyes... something, anything, please...

“Damn it, Thor! Why is it always like this with you? Why must you always take the moral high ground, then the moment it no longer suits you, turn it all back on me? Why is it that we can only ever talk when _you_ are disposed to it, and yet I am always at fault somehow?

“I hate it, you know. I hate how perfect you are, how effortlessly you make friends everywhere you go and sweep everyone to your side. I hate how you are always bursting with light as if you were the sun itself, and I am stuck in your shadow, forever ignored, forever taken for granted.

“But _I_ am the one who always needs to understand, am I not? I am the one who must change, who must adapt; I am the runt, the misfit, the monster, the villain and the liar.

“I'm tired of this, Thor. I'm so tired. I never meant for this to happen – I just wanted for you to see me...

“Please, brother. Talk to me. Anything. Blame me, insult me. I don't care. I just – I don't know – I don't know what to do...

“We're supposed to be gods. We're supposed to live thousands of years. You're still young, just as I am. You can't give up like that.

“I didn't mean it. I never wanted this to happen...

“It was all children's play, really. A way to get your attention. I didn't know – how could I have known – last time, last time you just pulled my d-dagger out of your flesh as if it was the bite of an insect... I didn't – I didn't expect –

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

“Thor... b-brother – please, p-please...


	19. Muffled Scream (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imprisoned by SHIELD after his failed conquest attempt, Loki now battles against his own mind.
> 
> Warning for mentions of torture.

Loki leant his head against the wall and smiled despite knowing nobody would see the curve of his lips, staring straight into the camera in front of him. They were not being subtle about their surveillance at all, and he took pleasure into showing them he was aware of their monitoring.

But it wasn't half as fun to provoke his enemies if they didn't dare answer him. He couldn't even send an illusion among them to frighten them by making them believe he had escaped, with his magic bound by the manacles at his wrist.

Neither could he rile them up with a few well-placed quips, with the muzzle covering his mouth and keeping his jaw shut.

He wiggled his fingers, smiled without joy as he imagined them trying to figure out what he was plotting. They were right to be wary. If not for these restraints, they were no match for him. He could crush them all under his boot like the ants they were, as he had told them upon arriving on their planet.

But the chains were there, and he tried not to notice the weight of them on his wrists, the way it bound his movements.

It was difficult to ignore it in the darkness and the silence of the cell, the one they had designed to hold a monster. There was nothing here to distract him from his thoughts.

The thoughts that were finally his again, free from the Other's hold; or at least, he was nearly certain they were.

For he kept hearing him anyway. His threats, his attempts at intimidation, the descriptions of the suffering that he'd inflict on Loki – that he _had_ inflicted on Loki.

His lungs were burning. He tried to take deep breaths, but his mouth couldn't open, and his nose wasn't big enough a conduit for the oxygen that he needed.

He was with the mortals. _They_ were afraid of him. He was safe. Loki tried to focus on the glass around him, the smoothness of the floor under his feet. He reminded himself of the camera watching him, but didn't dare rise his eyes towards it, too afraid they were going to read his weakness in him.

The chains were chafing on his wrists, heavy and cold, barely warmed by the temperature of his flesh. He worried his arms against the metal, but didn't manage anything but to scratch his skin.

He was growing tired of being a prisoner, even though clearly that wouldn't end any time soon. He doubted he could charm Odin into freeing him; besides, his pride wouldn't allow him to try. Loki would have to get used to restraints.

At least _he_ wouldn't have the Tesseract. Loki knew how dangerous the Titan was, knew the power held by the relic, but most of all he had wanted to thwart his plans out of pure spite and hatred.

They thought torture could tame him. They were wrong. They were wrong. He would never, ever, ever admit defeat, even if he had to go at it in a roundabout way. And he had succeeded. Thanos wouldn't have the Tesseract now; neither would he have Loki.

So why did Loki still hold such fear in his mind? Why was his heart drumming so fast, why did his guts feel so cold and queasy?

He was free, he was free from the Titan and his misnamed, cursed Sanctuary, free from the pain and the blood and the bones broken again and again, from the way they'd bind his limbs against a frame and stretch him until his joints popped out, from the enchantments that would hold him in place and prevent him from moving any part of his body...

The chains felt too real, the space felt too dark, and his mouth was full of the nauseating taste of blood.

He hadn't expected, when Thor had placed the muzzle on him, to ever be grateful for it. He hated that thing, hated the humiliation, the violation of being denied speech.

But when it swallowed the scream he couldn't hold back himself, he was glad it prevented his captors from seeing his pain.


	20. Asphyxiation (Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally opens up about his ordeal with the Ten Rings.
> 
> Warnings for torture.

They took me into another part of the cave, I don't think it can really be called a room, it was miserable, with rocks and dust everywhere. They dropped me on a chair and started shouting at me in a language I didn't know. I wanted to punch them, but they'd tied my hands behind my back.

At first I didn't answer them, and they struck me before repeating their question. I told them they had to talk to me in English, quipped that Americans were terrible at languages. It happened a few times, then another guy stepped forward. I couldn't recognise him if he was right in front of me, I swear they all had the same beards and tartan scarves, black and white and dirty things.

He told me “you make weapons.” His accent was terrible, I barely understood him. I told him “that's right, and the best in the business at that.” Wasn't about to make his job any easier. He looked so pissed, I was glad I had at least managed that.

So he told me “you make weapons for us” while gesturing at him and his colleagues. I looked him straight in the eye and told him no.

There was... there was this, this bucket of water right in front of me. I knew, as soon as they dragged me in there and I saw it, I knew what was coming next, I watched enough movies to know that. I had never quite believed that was a thing that actually happened.

And I was like, okay, hit me with it if that's the worst you can do. It's just water, I'll hold my breath and it's gonna be fine. I never understood why they acted like it was so terrible in all these movies. Bring it on, I thought.

I didn't even have time to take a breath. They grasped me by the top of my hair and by my arms, and the next thing I knew, my head was in the water and I couldn't breathe. I struggled, I tried to push them away and bring my head up, but they were too many and they were too strong.

I thought I was gonna die. I thought I was gonna drown, my lungs were burning, I thought I was gonna blow up. All I wanted to do was to breathe but I couldn't, I knew I couldn't or I'd die for sure.

And then they finally brought me up. I heaved in great gulps of air, I wanted to put all the oxygen in my lungs and my nose and mouth weren't enough for that. Plus I must have breathed in too early, because I started coughing and spluttering and it didn't help. I thought that's it, it's over, I get it now, it's awful, never again.

Which is when they dropped me in once more. It was even worse the second time around. I thought they were going to leave me there forever, I kept thinking, don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe and it was so hard. It was so painful. I never imagined not breathing was painful but it is.

They brought me up and shouted at me in their language again. I think I spat in their faces. I wanted... God, Pepper, I wanted to kill them. They had no right, I thought, I'm a free citizen of America, they can't keep me here and do these things to me. I wanted to blow their heads up one after the other for what they did. I'd never felt such hatred before, or ever since.

But I couldn't do anything. I’m one of the richest men in the world, living in one of the most civilized countries there are, and there I was, completely helpless against a few brutes.

Sometimes it feels like it was all that sustained me during these months when I was their prisoner, hatred and spite. I was determined to survive and escape just to show them up. Not even to come back home. I didn't truly think I'd ever see home again, it was impossible to imagine. There was just this fire inside me that insisted I wasn't theirs, they couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to.

I don't know how many times they put me in the water again. After a while it became impossible to hold my breath, and the water burnt in my nose, in my throat, in my lungs. I don't know how long it lasted. I was so sure I was going to die, that I'd never see you or Rhodey or Happy or, hell, or Obie again, I didn't know the bastard was behind it all then. That you would never know what happened to me. Or maybe you would, and I hoped you'd make them pay then.

I don't remember the end of it. Just waking up somewhere else and Yinsen was there, this time, and he'd put the magnet in my chest. Or was that before...? I can't remember. It's like it all happened outside of time. I couldn't even tell they'd held me for three months if not for what Rhodey told me on the way home. It felt like a lifetime.

Even now, years after, I still remember it as if I only escaped yesterday. Sometimes these memories are so vivid it feels as if I'm still there. I've gotten better, they don't frighten me like they used to, but I know they'll always be a part of me. 

That's what I mean when I say I am Iron Man. He's not just the suit or the reactor that powers it. He's the dark cave with the rancid smell, he's the rage burning like the arc welder I used to build my freedom, he's Yinsen's dying words telling me not to waste my life.

Iron Man isn't just a suit of armour. He's the part of me that got me to survive.


	21. Trembling (Loki & Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter confronts Loki and manages to see through him.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

“Underoos, stand down.”

Tony's voice was curt and sharp, like it always was when Peter was doing something he considered too rash or risky.

“I've got this, Mr Stark,” he replied, still staring straight at the villain in front of him. Dressed in green leather and gold, long black hair slicked backwards, the man had a crazy look in his eye.

“Kid, not this time, I'm not kidding,” Tony said. “That guy is dangerous, you were too small to remember it but he levelled New York five years ago.”

Under his mask, Peter rolled his eyes.

“I remember it just fine, Mr Stark. Aren't you curious what his plans are? Why he resurfaced now, so long after escaping?”

“You're bold, little spider,” Loki said, teasing. Peter swallowed, did his best not to let it unsettle him.

It was a big gamble. Loki _was_ dangerous, Peter had no doubt about that; not only did the man possess magical powers, but he also held the Tesseract, a cosmic cube Peter didn't know much about except that it was a formidable source of energy and it came from space.

He'd made his research when Loki had suddenly reappeared a few weeks from then. Peter had learnt his lesson; he'd have talked with Tony about it, teamed up with the Avengers instead of going on his own. But something didn't add up.

Peter was sure he'd have gotten to talk to the guy peacefully if Tony hadn't found him. It was the first time he wasn't grateful for his mentor's support.

“I'm often told it's part of my charm,” he quipped. “So what are you doing in New York then?”

Loki took a step towards him, and Peter had to use all his willpower not to move back. His spider-sense was pulsing danger at him, but only faintly, too faint a warning to predict immediate doom. Tony, however, jumped as if he'd been bitten by an insect, a palm aimed at Loki.

“Peter,” he let out reflexively.

Loki's grin widened. “Peter, then,” he said.

Tony let out a curse, and a shiver ran down Peter's own spine.

“You sound young,” Loki said, still moving forward. He came to stand a few inches away from Peter, but the young man refused to move. “So young, and yet already fighting adults' wars. How did they rope you into this? Was it the thrill of command, the illusion of doing something worthy? Or did they impress upon you the weight of responsibility, of duty, a burden too heavy for such thin shoulders? They must have told you you were important, you were the future of your realm. Surely you must realise you are but a pawn to them, a sacrificial lamb on the altar of power and illusory peace.”

“I don't think you're looking to sacrifice me,” Peter replied, refusing to acknowledge the rest of Loki's words. Clearly the man had done his research, but so had Peter. The god of lies and mischief couldn't be anything less than a masterful words-wielder.

Loki's eyebrows shot up.

“You think I would hesitate for a second if you were in my way?”

“Don't touch him,” Tony barked, taking a hesitant step towards them. “Don't touch him, reindeer games, or I'll blast you into oblivion.”

“How touching,” the alien smirked.

“The thing is, I don't think I'm in your way,” Peter hurried to say, hoping to defuse the situation before it turned into blows, because then all would be lost. “You're looking for something, something you can't find on your own.”

Loki huffed.

“Something I'd want from you helpless mortals?”

“Yes,” Peter went on, without a clue what he was doing, but feeling confusedly he was on the right track. He wondered if that kind of intuition was perhaps an undiscovered feature of the spider-sense; it didn't really feel so, though.

“We're not as helpless as you say. We stopped you, five years ago, drove you into hiding. All this time you had the Tesseract, and you didn't try to rule us again.”

“Perhaps I was just biding my time, rebuilding my army,” Loki said.

“Then why reappear now, as alone as you were when you escaped?” Peter shot back. “You want us to believe you're in control, but I don't think you are.”

Loki smiled again, something feral and cornered. Suddenly Peter realised what had struck him as odd, what in his posture was discordant with his discourse.

“I think you're afraid,” Peter concluded.

At that Loki started as though stung. He pursed his lips, gritted his teeth, and Peter tensed, preparing for the inevitable lash-out that always came when cats about to be rescued felt threatened instead.

“I saw you a week ago,” Peter continued. “I think you saw me too. You didn't look like a conqueror at all. You had bags under your eyes, as if you were on the run, and you were trembling.”

There was no mistaking it. Now that he had said it, Peter saw it even more clearly. Loki's frame was shaking from head to toe, his hands most of all, even as his fingers held the Tesseract in a death grip, his knuckles white against the blue glow of the cube.

“How preposterous,” Loki snarled, his smile all but disappeared now. There was a threatening gleam in his eye, but Peter didn't feel in danger. “And what, pray tell, would I, an immortal god, be afraid of?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again, realising he had no idea. What could be powerful enough to scare a being so strong as he was?

Loki was starting to regain some of his composure. “Exactly. You cannot think of anything. I –“

“The void,” Tony said. Loki's head whipped towards him, his eyes widening. “There's something in there, I saw it. Something dangerous. That's what you're afraid of.”

Loki was about to answer when he squeezed his eyes shut with a shaky breath. A grunt of pain escaped him, and he fell on his knees, bringing his hand to his forehead, the cube falling to the ground. Peter stepped forward and grasped his arms, preventing him from toppling forward. He could feel the tremors running through the god's steel-like muscles.

“Oh, will Midgard never cease to thwart me,” Loki grunted, looking as if the most terrible headache in the world had overcome him. His entire body was still trembling, as if resisting a terrible weight. “You have no idea what lies beyond your sight, the monsters that prowl in the shadows.

“Fine. I was running away, like you so cleverly deduced. I tried to disappear, to buy us time, but it is all in vain. There is no escape.”

He opened his eyes again, unnervingly bright and terrified. However, it was no longer at Peter he stared, but at Tony.

“He's coming,” he whispered.


	22. Laced drink (Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey is persuaded Tony's stubbornness will get the better of him someday, and college parties sometimes aren't the safest place for fifteen-year-old geniuses.
> 
> Warnings for non-consensual drugging and slight hints of a character intending assault, although nothing bad happens and the near victim remains mostly unaware of it.

“No, Tony.”

“Please.”

Rhodey held Tony's pleading gaze for a minute, then looked away.

“It's still no.”

“Please! Do you know how hard it is, how much it hurts my pride to beg you like this?”

“Dammit, Tones,” Rhodey swore. “I'm not crossing that line. You're fifteen!”

“So what?” Tony did his best not to pout. He didn't want to look even younger than he was. “Do you want me to miss out on all the greatest experiences of college?”

Rhodey laughed.

“You should have thought of that before enrolling at MIT at the age most people are still in high school.”

“High school was boring,” Tony replied. “Boring-er than boring. I would have _died_ if I'd stayed there one more year, Rhodey, died.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but Tony could see the start of a smile on his lips. They were getting somewhere, then.

“C'mon, just one. So you'll have less the impression that you're babysitting without getting paid and more that you're hanging out with a cool bud of yours.”

“Listen, Tony –“

“Just one.”

“No.”

“I'll do your aerodynamics assignment for you.”

“I can do my aerodynamics assignment myself.”

“I just want to have fun –“

“There are other ways to have fun.”

“God, platypus, you're such a –“

“It's _no,_ Tony,” Rhodey cut him off in a final tone. “You can say anything you want, I am _not_ getting you a drink.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing to say to that, so Tony just crossed his arms and gave in to the temptation to pout he'd been having for the last half-hour.

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbled. “First party of the year and I'll be the only one without alcohol.”

“Get yourself an orange juice or something,” Rhodey said. “Nobody will tell the difference between a beer and a soda in this light.”

“Geez, thanks,” Tony snapped, suddenly very aggravated. “You know what, forget it. I'll just go back to the dorm.”

“What?” Rhodey replied, bewildered. “You were the one who insisted on coming –“

“I changed my mind.”

Tony walked away, ignoring his friend's repeated calls as he moved through the crowd of people. Rhodey was really nice, one of the only people here who didn't look down on him because of his age, smart and sarcastic like Tony was (except Tony was perhaps a little smarter and more sarcastic), but Tony couldn't stand when he got into one of his mothering moods.

Unlike what he told Rhodey, though, Tony didn't go back to the dorm. He went to the bar and leant against it, still fuming.

Maybe when Rhodey would head home himself he'd realise Tony wasn't there and look after him. Maybe he'd worry, and that would serve him right.

“Hey there, you all right? You look downright pissed.”

Tony sighed and turned up his nose at the newcomer as much as he could. He couldn't see much of him in the darkness, beside that he was built like a tank, had very short hair and recognition immediately appeared on his face.

“You're Tony Stark, right?” the guy said. Yep, instant dislike.

“What gave it away, the height, the baby face or the genius written all over my features?” he deadpanned.

The guy laughed and patted Tony on the back, hard enough for Tony to fall forward a little.

Yeah, he really didn't like him.

“I'm Chuck, since you probably don't know the name of every mortal down here.” Tony did his best not to blurt out that he'd been just fine not knowing it. “You want a drink?”

And just like that, Tony's opinion of him changed. Well, not really of _him,_ per se, but rather of the opportunity he provided.

“Sure,” he hurried to say.

“What do you like?”

Tony shrugged, hoping it wasn't painfully obvious he had no idea what he was doing.

“Whatever.”

Tank-guy nodded and turned towards the barman to tell him something Tony couldn't hear from here, with the music being so loud. 

There. He didn't need Rhodey to chaperone him all the time. He could do regular student stuff himself, too.

A minute later, a bottle was set in front of him. Tony took a long swig from it, then did his best not to grimace.

Wasn't beer supposed to be _good?_ This was the furthest from it, bitter and with a weird aftertaste. Tony forced himself to drink more of it.

“You're in civil engineering too?” Tony asked. Tank-Man offered him a drink, he was entitled to some conversation, after all.

Tank-Man. That sounded like a superhero name. A ridiculous one, with his underwear above his tights and an over-the-top sense of drama. Tony couldn't help but snort at the image.

“Yeah,” the guy said, his expression souring. “It's a damn bitch.”

“Really? I don't know, I don't find it so hard.” The guy still had his hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony needed space. He took a mouthful of beer again, rose his elbow extra hard. “I'm blowing it all up. Boom. That's my calling in life.”

The guy let out a forced laugh. “Cause of your dad's job, right.”

“You got it, big guy,” Tony said, with a gun gesture and a click of the tongue.

Inside, he was wincing. Bad joke, he thought, really, Stark, you can do better than that. Why can't you do better than that? You're a disgrace.

Truth be told, the guy was boring, and the beer wasn't all that good anyway. Tony just wanted to go away from here. The student experience was lacking, truly. Maybe Rhodey was right after all.

He put a hand against his forehead. He felt somewhat hot, and had a bit of nausea. Come on, surely he didn't hold liquor _that_ bad? He hadn't even had a full beer yet. Was there an enzyme in alcohol that reacted badly with underage stomachs? He'd have to ask the cute girl in bio-engineering.

Or on second thought, maybe not.

The guy was there again, breathing in his space and crowding his face.

“You all right there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said. It took all his willpower not to bat him away like a fly. “Just fine.”

“You want to get some fresh air?”

Oh. Fresh air sounded nice. Tony nodded, finding speaking too much effort all of a sudden.

He stood up, found his vision swimming. A shiver ran through his spine when Tank-Man strong hands gripped him, and he couldn't do anything but collapse against him. Great job, Tony, absolutely wonderful. He absently stared at the beer he was still holding, pretty sure the deafening bass and blinking lights shouldn't be enough to disorient him like that.

What the hell was there in that thing?

Helpless, he couldn't do anything but let himself be pulled around, feet dragging, when he heard his name called out. He tried to turn his head to search who was at the origin of it, but everything was spinning around him.

Then he was pulled out of Tank-Man's grasp into someone else's, softer, hands. There was some shouting, some walking around, and then merciful wind. Tony gulped air in as if he'd been drowning. He blinked, looked around him. His surroundings began to settle, his head feeling slightly less hot.

“Tony? Tony, you hear me?” Rhodey said, concern etched on his face, and Tony felt immensely relieved to hear him without knowing why. “Man, what was there in your drink?”

Tony shrugged, not knowing, but even that movement was too much for his stomach. He bent forward and retched against the wall, a searing burn rising up his oesophagus, his legs and arms shaking, a headache splitting his skull in two.

He didn't even have the energy to be offended when Rhodey let out a low whistle.

“I'm so glad I didn't believe you when you said you were going home and came after you,” he said. “From now on you don't leave my side. Party's over. I hope you had enough of the college experience.”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, his voice weak, his words slurred. “Think it's not for me 'fter all. Building DUM-E's more fun anyway.”

Rhodey laughed. “Yeah, I bet it is.”

He passed Tony's arm around his shoulders. Tony was glad he was able to walk. The fresh air was really helping, and soon enough he could even support his weight somewhat.

He was really relieved when they were finally in their dorm and he could collapse on his bed.

“Thanks, Rhodey,” he mumbled, half-asleep. “Had fun tonight. We do it again 'never you want.”

Rhodey let out a snort.

“You are not going to a single other student party and tasting a drop of alcohol until you turn twenty-one.”

“Famous last words,” Tony replied, just to annoy him, then was out like a light.


	23. Hallucination (Thor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun will shine on us again; the sentence keeps turning in Thor's mind, a tiny glimmer of hope in the shadows. But it's so dark in Thor's mind.
> 
> Warning for past major character death.

The sun will shine on us again. The sentence keeps turning in Thor's mind, a tiny glimmer of hope in the shadows.

But it's so dark in Thor's mind. They made it to Midgard at last, thanks to the helpful Guardians of the Galaxy, but it seems to Thor he never left the refugee ship Thanos ravaged, the floating graveyard in which he left half his people and about as much of his heart.

Norway is beautiful, if somewhat cold this time of the year. On Asgard reigned an eternal summer, Thor realises it now, the temperatures always pleasantly warm, the grass ever the most verdant green, the days long and the trees brimming with colourful flowers and fruit.

Winter on Midgard seems toned down. The nature sleeps a deep slumber, which Thor at first had trouble believing is only temporary. The wind is cold, the birds are silent.

But the mountains are beautiful. Snow covers everything, thick and silent, bringing a muffled sort of peace. Sometimes it shimmers in the light, laughs in iridescent tones when the sun kisses its delicate surface. Then some days it howls and rages, and it's better to stay inside if one doesn't want to endure the ice's vengeful bite.

Winter on Midgard is deceptively soft, quietly dangerous, secretly beautiful, and it reminds Thor of Loki.

The sun will shine on us again. The winter sun shines indeed, but it is cold and distant, and it never seems to cast its light on Thor. No matter how bright it glows, he remains trapped in everlasting darkness, freezing and miserable.

He wonders if this was how Loki felt when he fell in the void, if the obscurity Thor carries inside him is anything like what his brother bore. Loki was ever a creature of darkness, always in the shadows, shying away from the gleam of glory. Or perhaps he sought it without attaining it; Thor is no longer so certain.

He remembers the periods of melancholy Loki would sometimes endure, during which he isolated himself even more than usual and seemed far away even when he kept Thor and their friends' company. He had never thought much of it, simply pegged it as one more endearing oddity of his wonderful, aggravating, mysterious brother.

Now it seems to him he understands Loki more than he ever has, and it is like a constant weight in the pit of his guts. He wonders if his brother's madness was contagious, a living thing that at Loki's death sought a new host in him instead, for that secretive sadness seems to have taken a hold of him now. He no longer is the exuberant warrior, the proud son of Odin that was destined to take Asgard's throne. He no longer is anything he used to be, really. Most of the time he is tired, uncertain, bereft of any energy; it is a good day when he manages to drag himself out of his house and take a walk down the pine-lined pathway. He still does it, because he hears Loki's gently disapproving voice in his head telling him to get a grip on himself, but he knows he is in shambles.

And always, always, the unending darkness. During the long and sleepless nights, whenever he closes his eyes, at the corner of his vision.

He met Thanos once, and was left unravelled from the encounter. Loki had never spoken of his time with the Titan, but from hints and pieces Thor had deduced he had been held by him for a long time, possibly the entire year he had spent missing after falling into the void.

A whole year in Thanos's clutches. Thor shivers just thinking about it. How strong must he have been, to remain mostly whole after that? Thor may have been the golden prince of Asgard, but he had always known Loki was infinitely stronger than he was.

And Thor never saw his pain, never asked him about it, never tried to help, never even imagined that perhaps Loki needed help.

Thor has so many regrets. They clutch at his heart, weigh him down, and he knows he will bear them for the rest of his life.

The sun will shine on us again. Thor wishes he could remember the full radiance of it, the way it embraced him as a child, joyful and careless.

Nowadays, Loki casts his shadow on everything. Thor cannot bring himself to wish it were otherwise; for his brother to completely disappear from his life, without even a memory for Thor to remember him by, would be more terrible a fate.

Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he leaves his bed in the middle of the night to go for a walk. He strolls down the path and heads into the forest, where the dark is thickest. There is nobody around him, no other wanderer at those hours of blessed solitude, and the cold is so deep it reaches even his bones. He wonders if Loki also used to walk around the Asgardian palace like a wraith when sleep eluded him, when the thoughts were too nagging, too haunting. He thinks he would have liked it here.

The air is like ice into his nose, his breath like a cloud leaving his mouth as he walks. The exercise manages to purge some of the circling thoughts somewhat, and his mind feels calmer than it has in several days. It is a clear, cloudless night; moonlight reaches through the branches of the trees to fall on his path.

Perhaps he will finally be able to fall asleep tonight; it has nearly been a week since he last could. He is so exhausted he feels that if he were to lie down, right here, even on the cold forest floor, he could nod off in but a few minutes. He knows it is but a fickle illusion, but the snow looks comfortable as a blanket.

Of course, he is aware that he likely wouldn't wake if he were to do that, and thus resigns himself to coming back to his too soft sheets, worn by his constant tossing and turning.

He is on his way back to his house – not home, how could it be home when he has no family left to make it so? – when he sees it.

A shift in the branches of the trees, a glimmer of light on a metallic blade, the ruffle of leather and fabric the colour of the pines. His name whispered, barely louder than the rustle of the wind through the leaves. He is not certain whether he heard or saw first.

His heart misses a beat, leaps in his chest. Without thinking, he changes directions, hurries to follow the hint he received.

Is that the light green flash of seiðr he saw between the trees? Is the man-shaped, dark-haired figure really just feet away from him?

Thor feels like he is going to cry tears of joy. Loki has died and come back before. He doesn't know why he was so sure it was real this time. His body on the ship wasn't any more consistent than it had been on Svartalfheim, nor the blow that killed him more horrendous.

And now he is here.

He keeps following the elusive shape, wondering where Loki is taking him, why he needs such secrecy. Is he running from some supernatural and monstrous being again? Whatever it is, Thor swears he won't let him face his fears alone again.

He is nearly running now. He can hear the accent of his brother's voice calling him in a whisper.

“Loki!” he shouts back. “I am here, brother. Please stop fleeing from me.”

Between two trees, Thor finally glimpses his face; it is a fraction of a second, but enough for him to make out two fevered eyes, a worried frown turning into a smile when his gaze catches Thor's. He looks young and burdened at the same time; Thor couldn't say if he reminds him more of the brother he plays with during his whole childhood or the ghost that faced Thanos with such pained defiance in his face.

At last he reaches a clearing, where the trees space out to let the moon shed its light on moss-covered rocks and twigs on the ground. At last Loki has stopped running, and Thor can lay eyes on his brother.

His back is turned to Thor, and he makes no move to turn around. He is wearing his leather coat and his hunting boots; his hair is as long as it was when they last reunited. Dressed in black like this, he barely stands out against the forest.

Still he is here. Thor can see him, can look at him at last; the texture of his clothes, the waves of his hair, the glint of the moon on the top of his head. It is everything he never expected to have back.

“Loki,” he stammers, taking a step forward. “Loki. You're here. I can't believe it.”

Loki doesn't move, as if he hadn't heard him. Thor frowns; he is standing close, and he didn't speak so quietly.

He is so close, closer than he ever thought he would be again, and his throat closes against his will.

“I thought you dead – again,” he manages to get out. “But you've come back. You've come back. I shouldn't have doubted you.”

Loki is still motionless. Thor longs to see his face, to talk to him.

“Will you look at me, brother?”

He takes a step forward, reaches out to grasp his shoulder but somehow cannot hold it. Loki is a few inches farther than he thought. At last his movement seemed to make him react, for he turns back and finally crosses Thor's gaze.

His face is pale, his eyes dark and wide. His mouth is half-open in a startled expression, as if he was just caught playing a trick or another and feared reprisal, the stubborn set of his jaw indicating he thinks he did nothing wrong.

He is exactly like Thor remembered him.

“Loki?”

Thor steps forward once more, his hand still reaching out.

There is nothing in front of him.

He gasps, blinks, looks everywhere around him. He feels disoriented, as if the ground had been swept from under his feet.

“Loki!” he cries out, sudden panic in his chest. “Loki!”

But there is no dark leather there, only the bark of trees; no raven hair, only night.

Thor doesn't understand. He stood right there not a minute before! Thor saw him!

The more he thinks about it, though, the more it feels like a dream, an illusion, a memory slipping from his fingers the longer he tries to grasp it. In front of him stand only pines and willows. The moon has started to set, the shadows more indistinct than before.

The hope dies before he even realised he held it, leaving him aching, bereft a second time. It was just an illusion; not those Loki used to create, not those his brother got him out of so many delicate situations with, but one created solely by his troubled mind.

Never has he felt so lonely, so grieved. He keenly feels his brother's spirit close to him, and yet he knows, with renewed and devastating certainty, that he will not see him again.

The sun doesn't shine in the Midgardian night. Around Thor, there is only darkness.

He sinks to his knees and weeps.


	24. Bleeding out (Loki & Thor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of the rekindled war with Jotunheim, a surprise attack has unforeseen consequences.
> 
> Warning for blood.

Thor purposely walked through the camp, shivering in his fur coat. The cold of Jotunheim was terrible, not only uncomfortable but perilous, and all the warriors had to be careful to dress appropriately if they didn't want to lose their toes. Thor hated it, hated this cursed land, its weather, and its thousand times cursed inhabitants.

More than anything, though, he cursed his own stupidity, his own hot-headedness. If not for his rash decision to show the Jotuns they needed to fear him, a decision taken in anger after his interrupted coronation, the war would never have been reignited.

Thor didn't think any other decision he took had ever had such dire consequences. Odin had tried to placate Laufey, to pass off Thor's actions as those of a mere boy, but Laufey hadn't been moved. He'd demanded retribution for the lives of the warriors Thor had taken: the Casket of Ancient Winters, or open war again.

Now they were stuck in a campaign in the frozen wastelands, suffering in a fight that seemed unending. At first Thor had rejoiced at the opportunity to cover himself in glory, to accomplish many exploits to be sung by skaldr; but his father's scolding had calmed his zeal. Thor had been punished by being stripped of his rank and forced to serve as a mere errand boy between battles.

At first he had resented it, but two years in the middle of war had sobered him. They were all sharing the same hardships, and it was all his fault. There was no reason for him to be lauded for anything happening here.

He arrived at the tent of General Tyr, where strategic meetings were held. Thor knew he would find his brother there: Loki spent a lot of time discussing tactics with the general.

There were times when Thor wondered whether Loki was avoiding him. He seemed colder and more distant, always withdrawn and preoccupied, and eluded Thor's questions about what was bothering him. But if Loki truly was cross at him, Thor could only wait for explanations. His brother was stubborn enough that it may still take some time.

As he had expected, Loki was in the tent, leaning over a map of the land, a concentrated frown on his face, chewing on a pencil. His green cape was draped over his shoulder, and he wore his full regalia of leather armour underneath, but no other piece of warm clothing. When Thor entered, he looked up briefly, gave him a nod, then focused back on his work.

“Loki,” Thor said, a bit irritated that his brother would barely acknowledge him. “Mother sent this for you. You haven't eaten at all today.”

“Thank you,” Loki replied, mechanical and distracted. “You can put it there on the corner table, I'll get to it as soon as I have figured it out. It would make more sense for them to wait for us _here,_ but with our resources, it would be more prudent to stage an ambush _here_...”

“Come on, brother. I do not think a small break is going to make much difference, except to your well-being,” Thor insisted.

Loki shot him a glare that surprised Thor with its coldness, then looked away.

“Of course you wouldn't think so.”

Thor waited for more, for Loki to start ranting about Thor's irresponsibility and how he didn't understand anything, but it didn't come. Loki merely kept his eyes on his task, deep in thought again, utterly disregarding Thor.

A bit hurt, Thor stepped forward and deliberately put the plate he was carrying in front of Loki, on top of his maps. This time Loki straightened and looked daggers at him.

“I said on the _corner table,_ Thor, are you deaf or do you no longer understand the Æsir language –“

“Loki, you need to eat, and get some rest as soon as you can. You look terrible.”

Yet another thing in which Loki wasn't himself. His brother, usually so neat and well-groomed, could sometimes be seen with bags under his eyes and his hair greasy and dishevelled. He didn't appear so to the troops, but Thor knew it was the appliance of seiðr and not time to take care of himself that allowed it.

“We can't all be the golden child of Asgard. Some of us have actual responsibilities beyond fooling around and swinging a big hammer.“

Thor swallowed his angry retort, unwilling to show Loki his hurt.

“You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up, brother. You can't keep functioning like this forever, and then what help will you be to Asgard?”

Loki pursed his lips together, looking on the verge of saying something before changing his mind. Thor took another step forward.

“We worry about you –“ he said, putting an arm on Loki's left arm. Loki jumped and made a movement backwards, startling Thor.

“Loki?” Thor frowned.

Loki froze and looked down. Thor's mind was racing, uncomprehending. His brother looked afraid, guilty. It made no sense at all.

“Loki, what is the matter?”

Loki let out a bitter laugh, astonishing Thor even more.

“It is nothing. I assure you I am perfectly fine.”

“Please talk to me. I know there's something wrong with you. I just want to help,” Thor said, more and more alarmed. What was going on?

Loki glared at him with such fury and – and nearly _hatred_ it took Thor's breath away.

“I am _fine,_” he spat. He stepped backwards and turned his back on Thor, looking at some other tool in the tent. “If you have nothing else to do, I would like you to leave.”

Thor hesitated for one more second then gave up.

“Very well,” he said.

He was about to turn around and leave when he heard the sounds of battle not far from their tent, and froze. Next to him, Loki had the same reaction.

“They wouldn't dare attack us in our very camp,” he said, such powerful loathing in his voice Thor shivered. “They're mindless beasts, but usually not so thick-witted.”

Thor gripped Mjølnir tighter, but didn't comment. He itched to leave and see what was going on, but if they weren't going to attack the tents, they were better off inside. The two princes of Asgard would be too valuable hostages to go out and risk being overwhelmed.

Next to him, Loki was as tight as a string, a dagger in his dominant left hand, his right one raised. Thor knew he had seiðr ready right under his fingertips.

The clattering of weapons came closer, heavy footsteps nearing the tent. Of course they wouldn't leave them alone. Thor and Loki exchanged a glance and placed themselves on both sides of the entrance, as to surprise any assailants before they had a chance to see them.

Their precautions bore fruit, for only a few minutes later a couple frost giants stormed inside the tent. Thor and Loki each took one, making quick work of them.

Unfortunately, several others followed, and soon enough the tent had become a real battlefield. It seemed a whole small unit of Jotuns had assailed them; there were already a few corpses on the ground, and Thor and Loki both fought against two enemies at once. The space was cramped, and Thor wondered for a second if staying inside hadn't been a mistake.

In battle, at least, he could cling to the illusion that nothing had changed between them. They were watching each other's backs as they always did, their movements synchronised by a long practise, harmonious and deadly.

And even so, Thor couldn't help notice how much more unhinged Loki seemed. He threw his daggers as his enemy with a vicious violence that frightened even Thor. His face was contorted in a disgusted and hateful expression, his whole body expressing the greatest revulsion.

Everybody hated Frost Giants, and the enmity had grown even worse since the beginning of the war, but Loki had always prided himself with cold detachment. Thor had never seen such unbridled hatred in him.

It just so happened that he was watching him when something even more unbelievable transpired. Loki slit one of the giants' throat, who fell; the second reached out to grip him, and Loki jumped backwards with such force he wavered on his feet.

The giant saw an opportunity. He lunged forward and impaled Loki in the stomach with the ice spear he'd just conjured.

Thor's heart missed a beat. His own assailant tried to use his distraction, but a sideways blow took care of him; with a cry, Thor then rushed forward and crushed the skull of the giant who was rising his hand to bear Loki the killing blow.

His heart in his throat, he knelt next to his brother. The ice spear was protruding from his stomach in a hideous way. Even more concerning was the pool of blood slowly growing underneath him, staining the ice floor red. His face was white, his features contorted in pain; he seemed to be struggling against something, a hand grasping at his wound.

“Loki,” Thor called him, unable to keep his voice from trembling. “Stay still.”

Loki opened his eyes, laid them on Thor with a terror that startled him.

“No... Thor...” he whispered, blood coming out of his mouth. “The ice... the ice... leave...”

“Hold on, brother,” Thor urgently said. “Hold on.”

Loki held out a hand as if to push him away, his breathing growing quicker, his pupils dilated; Thor merely grasped it, bewildered by the unexplainable panic. 

“No... no... go away...”

Before Thor could try and reassure him, a violent shudder ran through Loki's body. His skin turned blue, markings appearing on his face and hands.

Thor stared, uncomprehending. In place of his brother, clad in his clothes, lay a frost giant.

He let go of his hand, jumped on his feet.

“Loki?”

This wasn't his brother, he realised with growing horror and fear. It explained why Loki was behaving so strangely lately. It was an impostor impersonating him, a spy or an enemy warrior infiltrated to gain insight into their strategies.

“Who are you?” he roared. “Where is my brother, what have you done to him?”

Horrible images appeared in his mind – Loki captured, frozen, in pain... How long had this lasted? Was Loki a prisoner, where had they taken him, would Thor be on time to save him?

The frost giant laughed, a pitiful and weak sound which ended in a gurgling, blood-red cough.

“Answer me!” Thor roared.

The monster opened his eyes on Thor, red and so sharp it took his breath away.

“Do you... no longer... recognise me, _brother?_”

Thor stared at him. This was impossible. And yet there was no mistaking this accented voice, even strained and weak as it was; the sarcasm in it, the expression of these eyes, the fine build of these features, the jet-black colour of his hair.

Every detail of his appearance, when he looked closer, was Loki's. And yet there was no denying the colour of his skin or eyes.

Loki, his own brother, was a frost giant.

Thor wouldn't have believed it, would have thought it a trick from Loki with the many shapes if not for the pain on his brother's face, the way his lip curled up in disgust.

“Go on,” Loki whispered, “slay the monster.”

His legs too weak to remain standing, Thor knelt again.

“Loki,” he said, needing to say it out loud, to hear it to acknowledge the truth of it.

Loki swallowed, closed his eyes again. His breath was too quick, too weak.

“Do it, Thor,” he said, a little firmer. “Kill me. Vanquish the beast. I know you want to.”

“No,” Thor choked out. “No.”

He reached out, startled when Loki jumped backwards, recoiling from his touch, his eyes wide open in fear, hissing when the movement unsettled his wound. Thor stopped dead, his hand hovering over his brother's body without daring touch him.

His knees and the front of his legs were wet, he realised. Drenched in blood – in Loki's blood. It was frightening how much of it there was, on the ground, on Thor's clothes, on his hands.

He couldn't look away, horrified with the monstrous shade the blue gave Loki's features, with how much more cruel and barbaric his pained expression seemed under the markings of his face.

Still his blood was ruby red, as bright as the Æsir's.

It couldn't be true. Thor knelt there, frozen, stupefied. It was a bad dream. It couldn't be true.

Loki let out a half-sobbing moan, his fingers clutching at his wound as he retched more blood before choking on it, and it tore Thor of his daze.

Loki was a frost giant, and he was _dying._

“Help!” he yelled, in a sudden panic. He rose to his feet. “A healer, someone, anyone help!”

It only took a frantic order from Thor for members of the Einherjar to transport the unconscious Loki to the healers' tents, still looking like a frost giant. A grim Eir and her assistants had hurried around him, only stopping to give Thor worrying prognoses and to fetch medicines.

The whole night, cold dread had clasped Thor's stomach as he held a silent vigil at his brother's side. The darkness made the blue of his skin less noticeable, his features more like himself again, and Thor wondered how he didn't immediately see this was truly Loki.

Now the morning had timidly risen on the exhausted Thor, and Eir had thankfully told him Loki was out of danger. Thor had managed to get a few hours of sleep before waiting for his brother to wake.

Thor couldn't have been more relieved when his eyelids fluttered at last, opening on the same two bright red eyes that had so unsettled him before. They were still hard to look at, but where once Thor might have believed to see cruelty in them, all they reminded him of now was the colour of Loki's blood dripping on the ground, which was in a way even more frightening an association.

Loki blinked once, twice, disoriented; then he looked at his hands, froze, and shimmered. A second later, his pale face looked up at Thor, uncertainty written all over his features.

“Good morning, brother,” Thor said with a relieved smile. He hated how much more comfortable he was with Loki looking like his usual self.

Loki didn't return the smile. He averted Thor's eyes and looked down at his hands.

“Did we win the battle?” he quietly asked.

“We did,” Thor said. “But you nearly perished. You frightened me greatly.”

Loki shot Thor a thoughtful glance, and Thor cursed himself for his phrasing.

“I should go and help,” Loki said, making a movement to sit up. “There must be damage to assess – wounded to tend to –”

Before he could get up, he winced and fell back against his cushions.

“Careful, brother,” Thor said, putting a hand against his shoulder. “You are still injured yourself, and require rest.”

Loki batted his hand away.

“Do not call me thus,” he said, before stopping and continuing in a more quiet voice. “You know what I am. You know I am not your brother.”

He was worrying his hands together, a nervous gesture he often made.

“I do know,” Thor said, not knowing what else to say. “But you are my brother still.”

Loki huffed.

“Am I? Did my true face not fill you with horror and dread, did you not recoil in disgust at seeing me? You know me for the monster I am now.”

“Stop calling yourself a monster,” Thor snapped. “I cannot bear it.”

“It is but plain truth,” Loki said, his expression too neutral, his voice too bland. Thor did his best to forget the terror in his red eyes, the pain on his marked face, so other, so strange. 

He told himself it was the image of Loki dying that disquieted so; the truth was too shameful to admit.

“How long before this sentiment will fade, I wonder?” Loki continued. “One day it will sink in you, and you will realise the truth. You will finally see me for what I am, and when that happens, you will have no rest but that you have smashed my brains out with your hammer –”

“I _saved_ your life!” Thor roared, beside himself. He didn't want to think about Loki dying, especially so soon after it nearly happened.

Loki thankfully fell quiet at last.

“When I brought you to the healers Eir told me it was too late for you. You had lost too much blood, your heart would give out before your body could replenish itself.

“I despaired at such news. I begged Eir not to let you die, to save you by any means necessary; there was a spell, she told me, which might work or fail in equal probability but needed my cooperation. I accepted before even knowing what it entailed.”

Loki's mouth had fallen open. Thor suspected he knew what he was talking about, but couldn't quite believe it yet.

“Yes, _brother._ I let Eir transfer some of my own blood into you, praying your body would accept it despite our race difference. Her working helped you recognise it as your own and gave you the time you needed to recover.

“So no more of this denial. You _are_ my brother, not only in heart, but now in blood too; you are part of this family, and it now runs in your veins as much as it does in mine.”

Thor stopped talking, suddenly feeling self-conscious, and anxiously watched for Loki's reaction. His brother, for once, was struck speechless; he stared down at his hands, an emotion on his face Thor couldn't read.

“Thank you,” he said, carefully neutral.


	25. Secret Injury (Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to n°5: Gunpoint. Peter goes back home and has to confront a worried May.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

A few hours later, the bleeding had stopped somewhat. Peter felt confident enough that his clothing wasn't going to get drenched in red to carefully climb into his room.

His teeth chattering – a few hours outside in February clad in nothing but sweatpants and a sweater did take its toll on one's body temperature, especially at night –, he opened the window as delicately as he could and stepped inside, wincing when he accidentally put pressure on his bad leg. He sighed at the pleasant warmth of the air and hurried to change into three layers of his thickest pullovers before limping out in the corridor to the laundry room.

He was going to put his suit in the washing machine, and then eat half the cupboard of snacks. Maybe make himself some pasta. He was _famished_.

Huh. There was light in the kitchen. Strange; Peter usually took care to turn it off before leaving...

He was about to launch the washing program, with his suit as well as few more of his and May's clothes, because to put only the suit would be a waste of water, when noise in the corridor made him jump. He swirled on himself, grimaced when it hurt his leg, and gaped upon finding himself face to face with his equally startled aunt.

“Peter!” she shouted. “Where have you been? I've been so worried, I've looked for you for an hour!”

“M-May?” Peter stuttered. “You're home early?”

“Yes, there was some confusion in the shifts. I was looking forward to spending the evening with my nephew, only to find he had disappeared and not even his closest friends could tell me where he was! Where were you?”

Peter opened his mouth, only to find he had no idea what to say. He obviously couldn't tell her the truth.

“I-I-I was at – Delmar's. I was so hungry coming back from school... I don't usually buy food aside from lunch, but tonight I was really hungry...”

Well, not the full truth, in any case.

“For an hour?”

Shit. How was he going to get out of that one?

He nervously shifted and couldn't repress a wince when he made a wrong move on his bad leg.

“Peter?” May frowned. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing, I'm fine,” Peter said, a bit too quickly maybe.

“You're sure?” May insisted.

She stepped forward, took his hand, opened wide eyes.

“God, you're so cold!”

Shit, shit, shit. Peter's mind was racing, trying to find a way to explain it, but he couldn't come up with anything.

“I, uh, I let the window open in my room and I didn't realise it – maths homework can be really absorbing...”

“You weren't in your room. Don't you think I looked?”

“Well I – I don't know – uh – when did you look? Maybe I came back home after getting my sandwich and you didn't hear me?”

“Peter, I've been trying to reach you for an hour. I think I would have noticed you coming back home.”

_Except you didn't, because I didn't use the front door._ Maybe he could use that. He hated lying to his aunt like that, but he could never tell her about Spider-Man. She would so freak out, and if he hated lying to her, he hated the idea of worrying her so much even more. 

“I don't know,” he shrugged, trying his best to look puzzled. “I've been here the whole time, I promise.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes, and for a second Peter was convinced she was going to see through him, to push and demand more answers. Then she sighed and pulled him into a hug.

“I'm just glad you're okay. Don't frighten me like that again, Peter.”

He relaxed into the hug as best as he could, even though he was in a bad position for his leg. He couldn't help feeling guilty: what would May think when she would realise there had been a robbery at Delmar's just when Peter had claimed to be there?

A robbery with a mugger who had a _gun_, on top of everything. Peter hoped she never found out, even though he knew she would. She was going to be so afraid after Ben... Peter wished he could spare her that pain.

“Promise me.”

“I promise I won't, May,” Peter whispered. He really hated lying to her, but he had no choice.

He had to do this. These powers made him special; he had to do something about it. He couldn't just live his life as if nothing had happened and deny help to those who needed it.

He needed to honour his uncle.

She pulled back, and Peter winced again. Gosh, he hoped his leg was going to be healed tomorrow, school was going to be a pain otherwise.

“Sweetheart? Are you all right?”

“Yes, perfect,” he smiled at her. “Love you.”

Her expression softened into a smile, and she kissed his cheek. 

“Love you too. Sleep well.”

Ignoring his heavy heart and doing his best to walk normally despite the excruciating protests of his leg, Peter headed back to his room.


	26. Humiliation (Tony & Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avengers AU. The scene where Tony attempts to threaten Loki happens a little differently.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

“How will your friends have time for me, when they're so busy fighting you?”

In a second Tony's bravado fell away, terrified as he was at the prospect of ending up like Clint. Then the sceptre clung against Tony's arc reactor, and nothing happened. Loki frowned. He tried again, with the same result.

“This usually works.”

Tony cracked a smile, more relieved than he could say.

“Well, you know, performance issues,” he couldn't help quipping. “They're not that uncommon, one out of five –“

He couldn't finish his sentence before Loki grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room. Tony grunted, rolled over to face Loki.

“Jarvis, anytime now,” he said. If he could just hold up another few seconds –

Loki strutted towards him, looking enraged, still holding the sceptre.

“You _will_ fall before me,” he said.

Then he stopped and tilted his head towards Tony; he looked at the entrance of the penthouse, and Tony cursed, rising to his feet.

“You don't have much of a sense of humour, I see,” he said, hoping to distract him.

It seemed to work, then the suit came through the door and Loki's eyes turned towards it again. He raised his sceptre-free hand and stopped; to Tony's astonishment, the suit fell to the ground.

“Humour is easier when you have the advantage,” he retorted. “Now who's the one with performance issues?”

He'd walked right into that one, Tony had to admit. He was too distracted, however, by the fact that Loki had just disabled his suit by holding his hand in the air.

“Jarvis, what's up with that?” he asked, alarmed.

“I seem to have lost the connection, sir,” his AI replied. “Rebooting Mark 7.”

Tony wanted to ask for more details, but with Loki right there, he didn't want to give away too much of his game. All he could do was stall.

Loki came closer to him and took him by the arm, looking at his chest with an avid curiosity that made Tony ill at ease.

“Now let's see what exactly prevented my sceptre from working on your mind...”

Tony tried pushing him away, but the alien was too strong, and only smiled at his attempt.

“Oh, how your boasting has quieted without your little toys,” he said.

“Yeah, not interested in trying yours, thank you very much,” Tony replied, his teeth gritted. “I know it's probably all you have to offer considering your condition, but I'll pass.”

Loki didn't answer him, still studying Tony's Black Sabbath T-shirt as if he was trying to see through it – which was probably exactly what he was doing. He held the sceptre under Tony's throat as a clear threat and brushed his free hand against the centre of Tony's chest, his eyes widening.

“You made yourself a heart of metal like your armour,” he said.

Tony gritted his teeth, the situation hitting all too close to home for comfort.

_You had one last golden egg to give._

“Don't touch it,” he snapped.

Loki's smile widened. “Or what?” he asked, deliberately pressing his fingertips against Tony's arc reactor. “You are helpless, Stark. You may speak words of pride and power, but that is all you are, words... and soon you will be mine.”

_Come on, Jarvis. Does it really take so long to reboot one suit of armour?_ Tony's heart was hammering, his stomach in his throat as he fought against the memories of Obadiah leaning over him and taking the reactor from his chest.

“Not interested,” Tony snapped. Obie was dead, Obie couldn't try and leave him for dead again, this was just another asshole who thought it was funny to mess with Tony's body integrity. “I gotta say, the whole subjugation – humiliation angle, not really my thing.”

Loki simply huffed, amused, the bastard. He was still focused on Tony's arc reactor.

“Fascinating. It shields your heart against my attacks –“

The whirring of reactors starting up interrupted him, and he whirled around. Tony used Loki's distraction to jump away from him into the suit coming at full speed towards him, then blasted the alien to the other side of the room.

Loki fell on his backside with a grunt, the sceptre clattering away from his hand. Tony kept firing at him with his reactors, not willing to take any chances. Loki tried pushing himself up, then Tony's next blow seemed to make him hit his head against the floor and he finally stayed down, grunting and groaning, rising a hand to his forehead. Tony kept his own hand reactor aimed at him, relieved.

“Hm, you know what, maybe I see what you find in it after all. Who's the helpless one now, rock of ages?”

Loki rose an astonished gaze on him, then let out a startled, breathless laugh.


	27. Abandoned (Peter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Beck's devastating announcement, Peter is on the run.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Peter ignored his buzzing phone and pushed his head deeper in his sweater's hood. Everybody knew his face now; the glasses would make it so he wasn't immediately recognised, but anything more than a glance was a risk for him to be found.

All the while he kept repeating himself it was for the best. He was protecting his loved ones, sparing them the burden that was entirely his own. They might not see him as such, but they would understand one day.

Still, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore their frantic calls. Peter knew they must be worried sick, and he hated that he must keep them that way.

But he had no other choice. He knew how this went: he was a target now, and everybody close to him could be taken in the crossfire. He just couldn't risk that.

Perhaps he should get rid of his phone. He knew it could get tracked. Without Mr Stark, though, he doubted anybody would think of doing it quite as quickly. He could keep it a little while longer, stare at May, Ned, Happy and MJ's messages even though he couldn't answer them.

Even Pepper was trying to call him. Peter wanted nothing more than to answer her; Pepper would know how to help him, she always had a solution, always knew what to do.

But Peter knew he shouldn't. This was a PR nightmare; he shouldn't impose it on her or on Stark Industries. Better that he keep from associating with them from now on.

Peter kept moving. It was the end of the afternoon, he was far from Queens by now. He should try and find somewhere to stay the night soon, perhaps something to eat. He hated the idea of stealing; he thought he still had enough money on him for a sandwich, it would have to do. He'd worry about tomorrow later.

Perhaps he could get out of New York by then. He wondered if he should take the subway in the rush hours or rather avoid it. He was sure MJ must know something like that; if someone, somewhere, had written a book on how to be on the run, she must have read it. It wasn't quite murder, but it was illegal enough to fall in her interests, he thought.

Murder. That was what Beck had accused him of, wasn't it. Peter still had trouble believing it.

That bastard. Peter wasn't in the habit of swearing, much, but there weren't words bad enough for him right now. After everything Beck had done, all the grief and hurt he'd caused Peter, he still had to go away and destroy his life, betray him one last and terrible time.

He'd told Peter it wasn't personal, but it damn well felt so.

Everybody knew he was Spider-Man now. Peter felt strangely exposed, in a way that had nothing to do with the accusations he'd been on the receiving end of. He had protected his secret identity for so long now than having it out in the open made him vulnerable, as if he'd been thrown outside his door before he could get dressed. It was incredibly uncomfortable.

And to think people thought he was a criminal on top of that...

Well, perhaps he'd be better off not thinking of that.

Just thinking about it filled it with helpless anger. He hadn't done anything wrong; he'd just protected his classmates, protected the world even. He had just been repairing his own mistakes; had he never given Beck Mr Stark's glasses, then none of this would have happened.

He hadn't _wanted_ to kill the man. It had just happened. Beck didn't have to go and take control of a powerful weapon. Why did criminals always resent him, when he would never have bothered them hadn't they chosen to hurt others in the first place?

None other had ever dealt him so terrible a blow, though.

He had no right to get Peter's identity out like that. He was _dead_, for goodness' sake. He had nothing to gain by destroying Peter's life. It was pure malice and spite.

Peter bit back angry tears. Would he get arrested and thrown into prison if the police caught him? He had no way of knowing if Beck's video was considered proof. He didn't know law well enough for that. He'd helped them out so often, would they turn their back on him too?

Unless just getting out there, just helping victims and stopping muggers, just existing was already illegal. Peter remembered studying the Accords of Sokovia in class. He'd never known if what he was doing fell under them or not... He hoped he wouldn't be fined for failing to register; May really didn't need that on top of the rest...

God, May. She must be so worried.

But Peter couldn't go back. That would be even worse. He had to get out of New York and hide, disappear from the surface of the world.

It frightened him. Peter had never been truly alone before. Sure, it had felt so at times, at the very beginning, right after Ben's death, when he'd been the only one who'd known he was Spider-Man, when he was still figuring everything out while hiding it to everybody. But never in the same way.

Now everybody knew who he was, and Peter felt more lonely than ever.

He missed them so much, wanted to nerd out with Ned again, to kiss MJ and hear her laugh, to take May into a hug. It was entirely his fault, he knew, for abandoning them like he did. He knew what he was doing would hurt them, that they would look for him, that they would be concerned about his getting caught or sleeping in the dark.

But for some reason it felt as if he was the one being abandoned.


	28. Ransom (Pepper/Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is kidnapped. Pepper is not amused.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Pepper was too professional to admit it to any third party, but she wasn't Iron Man's biggest fan.

Tony's, yes. Her disaster of a boss had come to take more and more place in her life, he was driving her crazy and the workload was frankly unethical, but – she could admit it now – she loved it. Loved him, and all his quirks too, even though some of them she could have done without sometimes. She was sure he felt the same, though. He made her laugh, she kept him grounded, and they were a good team, complementing each other.

Iron Man was one of those things in Tony's life that Pepper wasn't so fond of. She was glad he'd found the way out of the cave he'd been imprisoned in; but no matter how much denial he was in, she could see, plain as day, that his captivity had taken its toll on him. Where he had once been focused, he'd become obsessed; where he had once been reckless, she now swore he had made it his mission in life to give her a heart attack. He'd grown more thoughtful too, and perhaps also the slightest bit more considerate. But Iron Man was at once a (unhealthy, she wouldn't change her mind) coping mechanism, and the embodiment of his trauma. No matter how irrational that was, it was hard sometimes not to hate it for everything it represented, and for the danger Tony put himself in because of it.

(Another opinion she wouldn't budge of was her refusal to consider Iron Man and Tony the same, no matter his insistence.)

Unfortunately, Iron Man wasn't the only source of danger in Tony's life.

“Excuse me?”

Pepper stared disbelievingly in front of her, clasping at her phone.

“No, I don't have – I'm only the CEO, I cannot take money from Stark Industries' funds without many formalities, I certainly can't do it for tomorrow at noon –“

She huffed a joyless laugh, and smoothly lied. “No, I do not have access to Mr Stark's personal bank accounts, I am just his employee.”

And girlfriend, but that was irrelevant, and chances were they knew it anyway.

There was a silence on the other end of the line. A lot of experience with the media as well as with Tony's crazy enemies had taught Pepper how to keep up a front, but inside her chest her heart was drumming madly.

Jarvis would be tracking the call, would lead them to Tony. She just had to keep them on for long enough a time.

“It's not all that complicated, Ms. Potts. You find a solution to get me this money, or Stark's life is forfeit.”

Pepper's blood froze in her veins. She looked up at the ceiling, hoping Tony's AI would understand her meaning. A screen silently turned on, displaying: “CALL TRACING ONGOING”

She grimaced. “Can I talk to him? I – I want to talk to him, yes. I want proof he's alive.”

There was shuffling, words exchanged Pepper couldn't hear. Fine by her. The longest they remained online, the longer she'd have to find Tony.

“Fine,” the kidnapper finally said. “You have one minute.”

Some more noise, and then a voice that both overjoyed her and made her despair.

“Pep?”

So they _did_ have him. And he was alive. Bad news, good news.

“Tony, what happened?” she couldn't help ask. She hated being in the dark. “Who are these people?”

“Random bad guys, don't worry about it.”

Pepper breathed through her nose, irritated.

“Tony, they _threatened your life_. I would appreciate more details.”

“Truth is, I don't know,” Tony replied. “I have no idea who they are, except they want money, like 90% of the people who talk to me, let's face it. But don't worry, I've got this.”

“I'm sure you do,” Pepper replied, avoiding rolling her eyes at the last minute, before remembering he couldn't see her and she didn't have to. If he really could get out, he already would have done it. “I'm getting you out of here, you behave and don't get yourself killed, okay?”

“Don't give them my money, Pep, it's not worth it,” Tony protested. “I can manage –“

“That's enough,” Tony's captor cut him off. Pepper couldn't say she regretted it, except she didn't want them to hang up. “You bring that money tomorrow or he dies.”

“All right,” Pepper replied, catching the green “CALL ORIGIN LOCATED” display from the corner of her eyes. Something unwound within her. “Please don't kill him,” she added, faking a tremor in her voice, hoping it would lower the kidnappers' guard. Nobody suspected the distraught girlfriend – or assistant, for that matter.

The man hung up, and Pepper got moving. She called Happy, informed him of the situation, and walked down the stairs to Tony's lab.

Like often, she wondered how many other people around the globe had routines for this kind of situation, as she typed the entry code, put her hand against the wall as Jarvis identified her and took the sleek black briefcase before coming back upstairs. It was a very nondescript briefcase, the one anyone who had ever gone to the cinema would expect to contain batches of bank notes.

An hour later, Happy and her were parked next next to an old facility. She opened the briefcase and pressed a button inside it; the foldable, nanobots version of the suit Tony had been working on lately rose and flew through the entrance.

“Do you think he needs backup?” she asked Happy, anxious despite herself. “I really hate it when this happens.”

“Nah, don't worry about it,” Happy replied. “If they couldn't even make their call untraceable, they're no match for Tony.”

Pepper knew this. They'd been through this enough times that she should no longer even be afraid; but she could never stop herself from wondering about the possibility that perhaps this time they would be a little better prepared, would have injured Tony a little more than usual.

The fact this even _was_ usual still filled her with an annoyed sense of awe.

Thankfully, the unmistakeable shape of Iron Man came out of the building soon, just as police cars were arriving at the scene.

“Why did you call the police?” was the first thing he had the gall to tell Pepper, visor up so she could see his face. “I had it well in hand!”

“There was a crime, I called the police,” she replied, before stealing him a kiss to reassure herself he was there. She couldn't feel his body heat through his armour, but the mere fact she could feel the armour was already comforting.

“But it means I'm gonna have to give a statement,” Tony pouted.

“Yes, you will. You were _kidnapped_, Tony,” she said. She set her head against his chest. “You know I hate it when you do this.”

He stayed silent, and she knew his expression was shifting into something sheepish. The suit retracted, allowing her to snuggle closer against him, and he put a tender hand against her back.

“I'm sorry. There was trouble with the range of the suit, I need to expand it, I didn't think I'd need it so far from the tower –“

She sighed. Perhaps she should just give up making him understand that the problem wasn't so much the range of the suit as it was the suit itself.

“Are you hurt?” she asked instead.

He shrugged.

“They beat me up a bit for the form, but no big deal.”

“So they really were just regular bad guys this time? No arch-enemies, no world conquerors, no rivals with a mortal grudge against you? How dull.”

“Nope,” Tony answered. “Just idiots trying their luck at easy money and failing. See, I was actually safe, I knew you were coming for me.”

Well, Pepper might not have the same concept of safe as he, but she bit down her answer, unable to repress a smile.

Perhaps he had a point. Suit or no suit, Tony's fortune was always going to attract envy and criminals wanting to take advantage of him. At least this meant he could defend himself.

Pepper still wasn't Iron Man's biggest fan, but when it was used to protect the man she loved, she found it a little easier to accept it.


	29. Beaten (Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never had Tony felt so defeated.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

Ashes. Ashes in his hand, on his suit, in the air. Ashes everywhere.

Tony took a shaky breath, blinked. The world seemed unreal, as if he was trapped in another nightmare and just about to wake up.

Peter was gone.

He couldn't breathe. The ashes were getting stuck in his throat, in his nose.

Peter was gone.

He stared at his hand, unable to fathom something so huge. He'd been there just a second ago, and now he had disappeared, after a last – of all the things to say – after a fucking apology.

Tony wanted to cry.

He had seen it coming. He had glimpsed the Titan when he'd flown into that wormhole above New York, years ago now. Ever since then, he hadn't stopped fighting against the unspeakable threat he'd perceived, confusedly felt as something more terrible than anything they'd imagined.

He'd been right. Tony was usually right, and he usually relished it. Not this time. He'd have given anything to be wrong, this time.

He sat down and put his hand on his chin, the very hand that had last held Peter before he just disappeared. It didn't feel real. There wasn't even a body, something to reassure him that the kid had once existed. Just empty air and memories.

There was a panic attack there, bubbling right under the surface, ready to take off and hit him in full force as soon as he'd break out of his daze. Tony'd had enough of them to recognise them by now. He breathed in deeply, hoping it would suffice to call it off.

He'd sworn he'd protect Peter, that he wouldn't let anything happen to him. But he hadn't expected something like this. There had been no blow Tony could block, no wound he could heal. Just a great silence, and the body of a teenager fading into thin air, in a way Tony would have thought impossible but a day before.

Never had he felt so afraid, witnessing such a great and terrible power, something so unnatural, so beyond human proportions.

Never had he felt so defeated.


	30. Numb (Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is an evening like any other on Asgard. Loki can't bring himself to share Thor and his friends' fun.
> 
> Warning for suicidal thoughts.

Laughter resounded around him. Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif and Thor were thoroughly amused by some jest one of them had thrown, but Loki hadn't heard it. He cracked a smile for appearances' sake, although his heart wasn't in it.

It turned out he shouldn't have bothered. No one so much as glanced at him.

Loki looked at them, still sitting amongst them, yet feeling as though he stood miles apart. They were so different from him: boisterous, enthusiastic, simple, a pint of mead and insipid tales of battle their idea of the greatest fun. He didn't know whether to pity them or to envy them.

The more he watched, the more Loki found himself estranged from their merry-making. Their mindless jokes had them in stitches and left him cold, unmoved. He was removed from it all, an outsider in their very circle.

He looked down at his hand, performed once the gesture of the new spell he had been practising, without casting it. It seemed so vain to him now.

He might hold contempt for their idea of fun, but in this moment he couldn't remember his own.

Loki silently rose, still watching the others for any reaction. As he expected, they were too entranced by their bland story to pay attention to him. He walked away, alone, gliding in the shadows.

He wandered a moment in the well-known corridors of the palace, going astray towards the gardens, where the light was soft and didn't disturb the calm of the night. It soothed some of his heartache, appeased the storm without cause that raged within him.

All this for a little piece of teasing. It had happened somewhat earlier in the day, just a thoughtless quip Thor had likely not meant, probably forgotten by now. Loki wasn't outdone on the field of brotherly taunts himself. And yet today the bolt had found its mark, disseminating its poison all afternoon until it left Loki melancholy and dispirited.

For no matter what Thor intended, no matter what he thought, it didn't change reality. Loki didn't belong with them, in their battles and their quests. Forever outsider, forever other, he longed for something else, something more. It was an indistinct yearning he couldn't name, but felt no less potently.

Asgard was at once too imposing and too narrow for him. He itched to leave, to cross other bourns and discover other countries, but was also too tired to think of preparing such a long journey, too lonely to leave even the dull company he usually kept.

It tugged him in a thousand different ways, leaving him weary and worn, numb to the simple delights of life.

His steps had taken him to the rainbow bridge leading to Heimdall's observatory. He stared down into the void, beheld the stars that stretched at his feet, and fell the pull of the unknown.

What if he slipped, his mind whispered at him. His stomach lurched.

Where had the sudden, dreadful thought come from? Loki wasn't so desperate as to envision such final measures. And yet his mind offered him images similar to those of the evening in every way, except that he wasn't there; the same laughing, the same mirth, without noticing his absence.

He'd often wondered what came after death. Valhalla seemed like a tale for children to him, a reassurance to calm grieving souls and relieve bereaved hearts. It must be far more fearsome and more unfathomable, that great nothing, that eternity of non-existence. Terrifying in its infinity.

He did feel suffocated within the confines of his world.

Loki took a step back, just a small one, to ease the vertigo tickling the pit of his guts. Still he couldn't quite take his eyes away from the stars, so distant and beautiful. He wanted to reach out and grasp them in his hand.

Soft footsteps behind him interrupted his contemplation. Loki turned around and saw his mother walking towards him, her eternal soft smile on her lips. He offered her a nod of greeting.

“There you are,” she whispered. “What are you thinking about?”

Loki just shrugged and turned his gaze back to the vastness of space. He wasn't sure how to put into words the myriad of thoughts that ran through his head, too fleeting and intricate, too quick even for him to grasp. A part of him feared to scare her away; another fiercely insisted these musings were his and only his to keep.

His heart throbbed painfully in his chest.

She rummaged in her robes for an instant before handing him something. Surprised, Loki reached out and took it.

“I noticed you didn't eat a lot at dinner,” she said. “The Idunn tree gave its first apple. I know how much you like them.”

His throat suddenly tight, Loki looked at the fruit in his hand, its round fullness, the ripeness of its skin, bursting with the golden colours of the sun.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Frigga smiled again, searching his gaze before pulling him into an embrace.

Overwhelmed, Loki couldn't do anything but accept the comfort, basking in the warmth of his mother's arms. He tightened his grasp on her and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to repress the unexplained onslaught of emotions. He couldn't keep in a few traitorous tears, however, and they rolled down on his cheeks unhindered.

He didn't know whether Frigga saw the illusion he used to conceal his turmoil when she moved away. She merely squeezed his arm with another smile before walking further down the path.

In the darkness, Loki glanced back at the stars, then again at the apple he was still holding. He took a bite; the taste of sunlight and childhood filled his mouth, and he let himself savour it, relishing its sweetness on his tongue.

His heart somewhat more at peace, he turned away from the chasm and walked back towards the lights of the palace.


	31. Recovery (Thor & Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to n°20: Trembling. Loki and Thor reunite after Thanos is defeated.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

“So. Let us stop beating around the bush, Thor.”

Thor looked at Loki, bewildered as his brother held out his hands to him, his expression unreadable.

“What are you doing?”

“The chains,” Loki replied, irritated. “You have talked about bringing me back to Asgard, have you not? I must admit I would be grateful if you were to forego that dreadful muzzle this time, though. I promise I will behave.”

Thor gaped like a fish, taken aback by Loki's response.

“I didn't think to force it on you,” he quietly said. “I merely suggested it because our healers may help your arm.”

No matter how much he refused to admit it, the battle against Thanos had taken a toll on Loki. Even now, his left arm was covered in burns that looked painful whenever he deigned pulling back the illusion he had created to hide them. Thor had quickly learnt to avoid touching it.

“It will heal,” Loki dismissed it, unsurprisingly. “You mustn't worry about me like that, brother, else your fearful reputation will end up changed into that of a mother hen.”

“My reputation matters less to me than your health,” Thor protested.

Loki looked away and huffed in bitter scorn, but didn't answer.

Thor followed his gaze through the glass door to the two people inside the adjacent room. Tony Stark was lying on a hospital bed, an IV in his arm, and looked with a fond smile as his protégé, Peter Parker, who was also the young Spider-Man, told him a story with many enthusiastic gestures.

Despite the Man of Iron's injuries, they seemed happy and carefree. And why shouldn't they be? Thanks to them, and all the heroes that had assembled on Midgard to fight, they had managed to defeat the Great Titan and foil his search for the Infinity Stones. It had been a near thing, and Tony Stark had very nearly died for it, stabbed with his own blade, but they had survived anyway.

And much of this had been thanks to Loki, who had warned them of the Titan's resources and powers, had helped them figure out a plan of defence and had fought as valiantly as any of these warriors. It had been ages since Thor had last fought alongside him, and the only thing that would have made him happier was if Loki hadn't sustained a grievous wound during the battle.

The people of Wakanda had pulled him out of it and saved his life, leaving only the arm to be taken care of. Only Asgardian healers probably would manage to undo all the damage, and Thor couldn't understand why Loki so stubbornly refused to come home.

He had been dead for a year, missing for even more. Thor knew their mother dreamt of seeing him again. He couldn't understand why Loki was so against coming back to his family.

“They look happy,” Thor noted.

Loki turned his head towards him, then looked at them again.

“I suppose they can be quite endearing, for mortals.”

His carefully cold tone was belied by the shadow of a smile on his lips. Thor smiled as well. Either his brother's guard was slipping, either Thor was getting better at detecting his lies.

“Is young Peter Stark's son? I do not remember seeing him the last time I came here.”

Loki shook his head. “Not that I know of. He is just a found child Stark decided to mentor.”

“I see,” Thor said, then hesitated before continuing. “Family by choice, if not by blood. Sometimes these bonds can be even stronger.”

Loki's head whipped towards him, and Thor did his best not to bite his lip.

“Subtlety suits you ill,” he shot back. “Not everything can be wielded heavy-handed like your hammer.”

“I cannot help if you ignore my most direct words.”

Loki made an irritated noise and crossed his arms over his chest with a frown.

“Please, brother,” Thor tried again. “We have been estranged for so long, and I do not wish to quarrel with you again. I have missed you, you know, and so have our parents. I just want you to be well.”

Loki's eyes remained stubbornly set on Peter and Stark again. Thor sighed, discouraged.

He may have finally found Loki back and sane again, but he still felt as if there was an invisible wall standing between them that he had no clue how to break. It made him sad and lonely to think about the bond he'd once had with his brother. He didn't want to give it up, but Loki didn't seem to miss it as much as he had.

Perhaps Thor had erred all these years in thinking of Loki as his best friend as well as his brother. Perhaps Loki had always felt scorned and discarded, and truly didn't want anything to do with Thor any longer. If that was the case, then Thor would need to accept it, as much as it pained him.

It would require a whole other kind of mourning.

“You know what fate would await me if I were to set foot on Asgard again,” Loki said after a while, his voice low. “You know of the crimes I committed, and the sentence for them.”

Thor pursed his lips. Was this what Loki was worried about? To be imprisoned or worse, put to death, by his own family?

“You have helped save this realm,” he said, bewildered, his heart aching. “No, you helped save the entire Nine. You fought bravely and with courage against a foe you knew to be formidable, you resisted his coercion even when he thought to use you. Surely you do not expect to be punished for that?”

“It doesn't erase what I did before. I cannot imagine there will be much understanding for it.”

Thor couldn't bear the resignation in Loki's voice.

“I have talked about it many times with Mother and Father,” he pushed. “They would both be delighted to have you back, Loki. You would be welcomed as a son and a brother, as a part of this family, not as a criminal. We have missed you so much.”

“You cannot guarantee that,” Loki answered, still sounding detached and uncaring, but Thor saw the start of tears in his eyes. “You know how Odin is. He has ever been a king before being a father, to put it diplomatically.”

And that was something Thor couldn't deny. Odin wouldn't hesitate to act even against his heart if he thought it meant being a just ruler. Thor didn't think he would ever have the strength to make such choices.

But it shouldn't be the case here. Loki shouldn't be punished after everything he had suffered, everything he had done to atone for his madness. The thought of bringing him back in chains saddened Thor even more now than it did six years ago.

And Thor wasn't the same he was six years ago, either. He was no king, no ruler, and he didn't have the heart to force an involuntary return on his still mistrusting brother.

“I will ask Father at length what he intends for you, if it would set your mind at peace,” he said. “In exchange I ask only that you consider it. If you refuse, I will not bring you home against your will.”

The flash of surprise on Loki's face was yet another blow against Thor's heart. Loki bit his lip as he thought, then nodded, still looking wary and apprehensive.

“Very well,” he said. “I will... consider it.”

Thor broke into a huge grin and squeezed Loki's good hand; when his brother didn't recoil but answered with a tentative smile of his own, he couldn't help but hope their family could be mended after all.


	32. Embrace (Peter & Tony, Thor & Loki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even heroes deserve hugs.
> 
> No particular warnings apply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of forgot to update this, so here you are, have all the remaining chapters at once!

Tony closed his eyes, holding Peter tighter and relishing the feeling of his hair against his cheek, of his arms around him.

He'd thought him dead. God, he _had_ been dead. Tony had thought he'd never see him again. And there he was, with his mouth running a hundred miles an hour, as candid and upbeat as he always was. To feel him close, to have his heart beating against his with the certainty he was actually there, alive, not yet safe but hopefully soon to be, was everything Tony thought he would never get.

It would probably never erase the nightmare of five years ago on Titan, his anguished pleas and the apology that had pretty much stopped Tony's heart. But in this moment, Tony found it in him to let it go, a little.

Whatever deity was up there that Tony didn't even believe in, he thanked them with all his heart for at least granting him this. When he'd accepted to participate in the plan to save the world, getting Peter back was the only thing he'd thought about.

And they had succeeded. They had _succeeded_. Peter was alive and with him.

_This is nice._

Thor closed his eyes, holding Loki tighter and digging his fingers into the protective leather of his brother's armour.

He had thought him gone. He had thought their paths had diverged once and for all, and he would never see Loki again. If he hadn't perished by Surtur's fire, that is; Thor had been worried about that after the battle had finished. He had wondered if it would be particularly painful for a Jotun, or just quicker; but mostly he had hoped Loki would be able to escape, somehow, like he was so good at doing. 

It had been one of the most painful things of their dance of the last years, this gradual estrangement. Even more than having to mourn over and over again as Loki seemed to die before miraculously coming back to life, this helplessness as he saw their relationship degrading without understanding had been harrowing. 

He knew he had not always been a stellar brother himself, knew Loki had been suffering in silence for a long time before exploding. There were still many topics they needed to discuss, many hurts on both sides, many understandings they needed to reach. They had both changed so much in so little time; they had to rediscover what being brothers and allies meant. 

But there was hope in that, because Loki was _there._ It was everything Thor had no longer dared wish for. Loki was alive and with him. 

_I'm here._


End file.
